Treat yourself to some empowerment

So much of advertising these days is focused on sending women the message that we look terrible. Too fat. Too thin. Too fair. Too dark. Too old. WAY too old. You should probably be hiding in a hovel if you're over 20 years old to spare the rest of the population from your withered, offensive appearance.

This systemic objectification and disempowerment takes place so that a multitude of unnecessary products can be sold. I should know. I've bought hundreds of these products. I don't even want to know how much money I've spent on body lotions to smooth out the barely visible cellulite on my ass when I should have been working out, eating healthy, and loving myself. Working out and eating healthy is really hard work, and advertisers hook us on the idea of fixing our "shortcomings" with easy, magical solutions.

Even when these products are effective in altering our appearance, they don't really make us healthy or happy. They might make us appear healthier. They also might make us happy for a moment, but they make us unhappy in the long run by perpetuating our addiction to attaining an unrealistic, unnecessary standard of appearance. In other words, we cycle through varying degrees of feeling terrible about ourselves. These products and the media that sells them steal our precious energy away from focusing on the things that really matter in our lives.

It's no secret that I wear make-up. I brush my teeth. I eat healthy. I get my hair cut every six weeks. I work out. I don't wear burlap sacks in place of clothing. Looking and feeling my best is important to me. I would just like to avoid products that are focused on "fixing" me because there isn't anything wrong with me. I don't need to have the skin of a 7 year old and the body of an 18 year old, and quite frankly, I don't want to. At 33 years old and 132 pounds, I feel way more beautiful, healthy, and fit than I did at 18 years old and 125 pounds. I don't think it's "brave" of me to state this.

I've built my life on a foundation of intellectual and emotional capabilities, not on a lack of cellulite and wrinkles. You have probably worked hard to do the same. No amount of Botox is going to make me better at what I do. Despite a pervasive cultural insistence that we are unattractive and should be ashamed of ourselves, our value is not extrinsic. We can nurture our true, intrinsic value by investing in self-improvement strategies that are positive, relevant, and effective: coaches, trainers, and therapists. Everyone can benefit from working with these people because they help us grow our intrinsic value starting with the fundamental truth that we're already good enough.

It's very important to me to approach career coaching from a place of positivity and empowerment. I help people create an abundance of whatever they want more of in their careers. Our focus drives our actions, which drive results that are lasting and impactful. There is no quick and easy alternative that achieves the same results as working with coaches, trainers, and therapists. There is no body lotion or facial injection that can change your life like working with these people can. Each and every one of us is deserving of the joy that comes from authentic, intrinsic self-improvement. Treat yourself to some empowerment. ❤️

What is going on outside your cube walls: A guide for men

Dealing with micro-aggressions, sexism, and harassment is a daily burden for women in tech. Despite the fact that these indignities occur constantly, there is no shortage of men who are eager to tell me that they've never witnessed micro-aggressions, sexism, or harassment against women at their company. 

There are only three possible explanations for this:
1. They have never worked with women
2. They are lying
3. They are oblivious

I hope there aren't any men left in technology who have never worked with women. 

Some of these people are lying. I can absolutely tell they're lying. They smile at me slyly like the cat who swallowed the canary. Their insistence that they've never seen this stuff is a form of micro-aggression in itself. It is their way of sending a message to me that if they say it doesn't exist, it doesn't exist, and I'm powerless to do anything about it. 

Then there are the people who are truly oblivious -- those kindred souls who are too busy coding with their headphones on to pay attention to what is going on around them. This blog entry is for you. A lot of micro-aggression, sexism, and harassment takes places privately (in conference rooms, elevators, and empty hallways), but just because you don't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Please hear me out as I present this educational guide to what is going on outside your cube walls.

The single most common micro-aggression sounds like this:
"You don't LOOK like an engineer" or "You don't look like you belong here."

Come on, think about it. Yeah, you've definitely heard it.

It escalates from there: people asking me to make copies for them or to get them coffee, like this is the 1950's and I'm their personal assistant. Then come the unwelcome sexual advances, the emotional abuse (screaming obscenities in my face, calling me a bitch), the physical violence (grabbing and shaking me or pushing me into walls), the condescending advice, ranging from "you should wear that skirt more often" to "let me tell you in the same voice I use with my 3 year-old how to do the most basic of tasks," even though I'm more proficient than they are in many cases.

Some of it is subtle, but it's still infuriating. Last night, I went to a networking event for engineers, and seven people showed up. Naturally, the night kicked off with the standard, "Wow, you're an engineer," nonsense, because evidently it's impressive that I'm capable of using my brain. Nevertheless, the seven of us spent 90 minutes in a really nice, engaging group discussion. We all exchanged business cards, and immediately afterward, I sent a LinkedIn request to everyone. By this morning, everyone had accepted my connection request, but I received this message from one of the guys.

I guess it was a bit arrogant of me to expect to be so memorable to someone 20 minutes after a 90 minute conversation. Thank God I have this guy to advise me on the finer points of networking. I guarantee he would not have sent this condescending message to me if I were a man, but people like him thrive on treating me like I'm incompetent. Their favorite venues for doing so are private, where sensible people like you can't observe their nonsense and call them out on it.

There's also no shortage of guys who rush to point out that I'm "not that technical" if I currently work in sales, marketing, or education -- despite the fact that my background as well as the subject matter are highly technical. That's like me telling a professor they're "not that academic" because they teach at a non-research university. It's ludicrous and incredibly rude. Ironically, we all know that a lot of engineers spend their careers plugging numbers into software tools that automate their jobs. But they say to me, "You must miss being technical." Nobody has the right to judge how technical I am. These naysayers have no idea whether I've filed patents this year, contributed to FOSS, or picked up app development as a hobby. Why am I even placed in a position where I'm expected to justify my existence in this community?

If you really think about it, you know you've seen these indignities take place. At a bare minimum, I'll bet you know exactly who the guilty parties are. You're perceptive, and even if you can't recall seeing these things happen, you have the same bad feeling in your gut about these guys that I do. If you keep an eye on them, you will eventually see them pull one of their stunts in public. It probably won't take very long now that you're paying attention.

Don't tolerate it. Even if it seems somewhat innocuous to you, telling someone they don't look like they belong creates a hostile, unwelcoming environment. Take responsibility for creating a culture that is welcoming and inclusive of everyone. Not only is it the right thing to do, but it will absolutely help your career.

I'm a woman. I'm a nerd. Deal with it.

I'm so sick of guys telling me that women can't be nerds -- that we can't like comics, games, software, or robots. I LOVE ROBOTS. What are you going to do about it? Well, this is what some jerks at Wondercon did about it. They made this bullshit t-shirt and sold it at their booth:

I don't know what astounds me more: the lack of inclusiveness on the part of people who have probably been marginalized by the "cool kids" for their entire lives and know exactly how terrible it feels or the fact that they feel like it is ok to be so brazen in their misogyny. I mean, holy shit! They just said that they HATE women who don't fit their stereotypes of what women should be. They didn't even say it in a dark corner; they said it on a SHIRT! My most sincere wish is that I will someday meet a dude wearing this shirt and open a huge can of carbonated reality in his face (after I shake it vigorously, of course).

I can't even go to Pine State for some biscuits and gravy without meeting someone who tries to force their perceived reality on me that women can't be nerds. This morning, I started chatting with another patron at Pine State who works in the software industry. Of course, I was telling him about the work I do to empower women in tech because I'll tell anyone within a 20 foot radius who will listen. He was like, "Wow, that's great! There were hardly any women at this software conference I went to recently. It was pretty nerdy, though."

I had to open a lightly carbonated can of "women can be nerds, too" reality in his vicinity -- nothing like the guy in the fangirl t-shirt would get, though. Trust me, I was very diplomatic, but I did shut him down. I don't think he was a bad guy. I think he was just repeating the gender-biased nonsense that has been spoon fed to him by society for his entire life. Unfortunately, this nonsense is so deeply institutionalized that you have to be pretty firm in your stance against it. We talked tech for at least ten minutes after that and parted on the shared sentiment that we hope to run into each other in the neighborhood again.

Something tells me the dude in the fangirl t-shirt from my fantasy run-in wouldn't share that sentiment. Heck, he already hates me and he hasn't even met me yet.

Believe in your own value

I'm fortunate to have been raised on the ideal that I'm not better than anyone else, and I truly believe it. I speak to Taco Bell employees with a reverence and respect that most people would reserve for Oprah Winfrey. While I think there are plenty of people out there who feel the same way, I wish more people understood the reverse: no one is better than you. Living and working from a humble place is important, but acknowledging your own worth is equally important. Living life without arrogance is not akin to putting yourself last.

You're not better than anyone else… and they're not better than you either. Be secure in your worth. Acknowledge it every day. If you believe other people deserve things more than you do, you will let precious opportunities slip away. A belief in your own value and worthiness could be the single most important factor in your ability to pursue your dreams. ♥

Pro-Women != Anti-Men && Loud != Angry

In a culture that values women who are sweet, quiet, pretty, and agreeable, I'm aware that firmly standing up for my beliefs is not going to make me more likable (to men or to women). I'm at peace with the fact that people will label me as angry and abrasive because I refuse to conform to our society's expectations of women. I'm fortunate to be surrounded by people who love me because they know I will not go gentle into that good night. :)

I'm loud when it comes to the fair treatment of women in tech because you have to be loud to bring about social change, and we need a full-on cultural makeover in tech. Women in tech deserve to be treated fairly and respected for their value instead of being ogled, assaulted, and made to jump through hoops like circus animals. It isn't other women who are imposing this nonsense; it is men.

My assertion of these realities does not mean that I hate men -- far from it. I don't even hate the men who have made it very clear that they hate me. Hate is an energy vortex that serves no purpose but to create misery, and I have no desire to create misery for myself or anyone else. Some of the men I've worked with in tech have been my strongest supporters and allies. Not only do I dearly value their friendship and the work we've done together, but I'm smart enough to recognize that a cultural revolution in tech is not possible without their support. I need these men to stand up and be loud with me when it comes to gender equality.

I want to spark a rich dialogue that includes both women and men, and hopefully leads to a shared desire for positive cultural change. If that makes you uncomfortable or leads you to believe that I hate men, I'm pretty sure you're not in my camp, and I'm not going to waste energy arguing with you or hating you. I need that energy to support and lift up women and men who are smart, kind, tenacious, compassionate, and focused on leaving the world a better place than they found it. ♥

Own Your Story

I encounter a fair number of women in tech who don't like to be called women in tech. I get it. We want to be thought of as what we are: engineers. I can see how it feels a little weird to add the "female" label: female engineer. It feels like you've just been forced to add a disclaimer that is completely superfluous.

When I was in engineering school, I couldn't stand being referred to as a woman in tech. I didn't join the Society of Women Engineers (SWE). I'm not going to lie. I thought SWE was stupid, and I joined the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers (IEEE). Engineering school truly is a meritocracy because there is almost always a right answer (or at least one that the professor is obviously looking for). When you're right, you're right, regardless of gender. I was right a lot; I had the highest GPA in my graduating class. I'm sure you can see why I didn't see the need for the Society of Women Engineers.

Then I went to work at a high tech company in a technical role. In industry, there isn't a "right" or "wrong" answer. There are varying degrees of right and wrong that are open to interpretation, and most of the interpreters are men. Suddenly I was being told that I was wrong. A lot. I was even told that I didn't understand the scientific method. Excuse me? I had successfully defended a Masters thesis at Duke University six months prior to being told this. I was told I was too aggressive. People didn't like my ideas (people being men). They didn't like working with me. I'm a relatively cool person, so none of this added up.

For a long time I was ashamed about the things that were happening. Everyone was blaming me, so I assumed these occurrences were my fault. Then I started talking to other women in tech and their experiences reflected my own. The only person who can really understand what you're going through as a woman in tech is another woman in tech, but other people will support you if you're courageous enough to share your stories. These experiences don't define us, but they are an important part of our story. Sharing my struggles helped me release the shame that was crushing my soul.

If you won't call yourself a woman in tech, then you're not sharing your whole story. I know you just want to be thought of as a great engineer, but you have to own your story. If you don't acknowledge and speak your struggles as a woman in tech, they will crush your soul as they did mine for many years. You matter. Your story matters. Share it. Own it.

"Shame can't survive being spoken." - Dr. Brene Brown

Incompetence Breeds Success

People are always asking me to explain how I accomplished something: how I built expertise in a certain area, how I made a career transition, how I created something successful. These are tough questions for me -- partly because I don't particularly enjoy talking about myself, but mostly because I don't always have the answers. Usually the first thing that comes to mind is, "I woke up one morning. I put on my big girl panties. And I did it." This isn't the answer people are looking for.

Then, today, it hit me. I know exactly how I accomplish everything I do. I intentionally place myself in situations where I'm completely incompetent and am forced to struggle (usually experiencing a series of horrible failures) until I become competent. We've all heard the Peter Principle, which suggests that people tend to be promoted until they reach their level of incompetence. This is generally viewed negatively because people can flounder when they reach this level, but people can also rise to the challenge. I constantly promote myself to my next level of incompetence so that I can rise to the challenge.

I only realized this because one of my clients was telling me about some of the jobs they want to apply for, but they haven't applied because they don't meet the qualifications listed in the requisitions. I was initially very confused by this -- why would you apply for a job that you already know how to do? Wouldn't that be incredibly boring? What would be in it for you? Then it hit me. People in our culture are terrified of failure. When people are terrified of failure, they don't push themselves. They never find out what they're capable of.

I've never known how to do a single job I've ever had -- at least not at first. I learned on the job, made a contribution, and then I asked myself two questions: How else can I apply what I've learned? and What else can I learn? Then I sought out a new role where I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew I could apply the skills I'd already acquired while learning some useful new ones. I was recently promoted to the position of Board President at a start-up. I don't know how to create a successful strategic business plan. I don't know how to manage a Board of Directors. I had never even been on a board until 4 months ago. I literally have no idea what I'm doing, and I've made no secret of this to my Executive Director or Board Members.

The people who are counting on me don't seem nervous, despite my lack of expertise. This is probably because I don't let my lack of expertise slow me down. I'm diving in with tireless passion and applying my existing skills and talents in new ways. I'm determined to become a great strategic leader for the organization because I refuse to let them down. I'll make a lot of mistakes and learn what NOT to do, and that's ok. I'll do some things right too, and at some point I'll do a lot of things right. Eventually, I'll be so good at it that it will be time to find something new to do.

The Most Annoying Gift You Can Receive is an Inspirational Calendar

I got an inspirational calendar for Christmas. I'm not sure why people buy calendars anymore when we all have smart phones, but I got one. It's called "Life's Journey," and it features 11 pictures of doors, stairs, boats, and paths. There is also a picture of a rock that I think they just threw in there because they couldn't find any more pictures of doors. The doors say, "Look at me, I'm a door that you could walk through if you weren't so stupid." The stairs say, "You could climb me if you weren't so lazy." The boats say, "Think of all the amazing adventures we could have if you weren't such a disaster." The rock says, "I'm a rock."

Now, before you think I'm jumping to conclusions, let me just share some of the monthly messages.

February: To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping.

When have I ever been the kind of person who gives up in the middle of a journey? Even when I get tired, I remind myself that there is probably food ahead and have no trouble continuing. Is there a perceived danger that I'll just stop one day? Am I on suicide watch?

June: Home is not where you live, but where they understand you.

Thanks for reminding me that I probably don't have a home in this world.

August: Don't go through life, grow through life.

Ugh. If you wanted to pass this crap off on me, you should have done it in January. Now it's August and I'm already annoyed by your snide monthly advice. You're going to have to do better.

December: The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched -- they must be felt with the heart.

I'm not Scrooge. I already know that. Do you think I'm Scrooge? Because that's how I'm starting to feel.

This calendar has done nothing but piss me off since I received it. I don't think the person who gave it to me meant any harm. They were probably at Fred Meyer and thought, "Hey, Jen is inspirational. She would probably enjoy this inspirational calendar. She can put it on the inspirational wall in her inspirational office and it will inspire her to be more inspirational."

I'm looking at the January picture right now and trying to convince myself that this thing isn't evil. It's a picture of a street with brightly colored doors that have seen better days. There are bars on all the windows -- the kind of bars that are clearly meant to keep rapists out. There is a sign that says "Calle 13," so I know this stupid street must be in a Spanish speaking country. There is a mess of cat 5 cables draped above the doorway that is clearly a hazard. I don't think this could be more depressing. These people painted their doors with festive colors 20 years ago to distract themselves from the fact that they live in a crime-ridden slum, and it hasn't improved. Instead of helping these people, we're slapping some stupid quote about journeys and secret destinations on top of their struggle.

In fact, the only picture in here that isn't annoying or depressing is the rock. The quiet, steadfast rock. I'm going to cut out the picture of the rock, pin it to my bulletin board, and throw away the rest of the calendar. Problem solved.

Girls are capable of being awesome scientists and still being feminine

I do a lot of outreach work to get girls engaged in science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM). I enjoy my work, and I collaborate with a lot of amazing men and women who are equally committed to this cause. I adore and respect these people. However, there are some fairly prevalent beliefs amongst my cohorts that drive me crazy.

The most common is the belief that girls can't be "girly" and "smart." This is usually perpetuated by WOMEN, not MEN. These women are usually dressed like they just escaped from an FLDS compound. If you don't know what that means, just picture the little girl from Little House on the Prairie if she was 30 years older, her dress was 8 sizes too big and her braids had turned into dreadlocks. Now, before you think I'm hatin', let me just say that I'm cool with these women. They can wear whatever they hell they want. All I care about is that they're brilliant. However, they're usually saying things like, "Girls will absorb whatever we teach them. If we teach girls about make-up, that's what they'll learn. If we teach them about science, they'll learn that instead." (This is almost a word-for-word quote that I heard from someone at a really reputable non-profit that specializes in STEM education.) I'm not sure if it's occurred to these people that girls' brains might be capable of absorbing content related to more than one topic. I mean, seriously. WTF.

Aside from this just being ridiculous and insulting, it also bothers me because I think this is one of the stereotypes that keeps girls out of math, science, and engineering in the first place. There are a lot of smart girls who don't want to go into these fields because a lot of the female "role models" are these women who look like they've taken up residence with the uni-bomber. Some girls see that and can't relate to it, so they think these fields aren't for them. People really need role models they can relate to. You don't have to lose your femininity to be a scientist. I mean, if you want to, that's cool, but you definitely don't have to.

By the way, what is SO horrible about make-up and fashion, anyway? For me, it has always been a huge creative outlet. I like to play with color, light, and texture using make-up and clothing. Sometimes it turns into a huge disaster and sometimes it's awesome, but isn't that kind of what creativity is all about? People in science, technology, engineering and math need creative outlets to be good at what they do. It helps us bring creativity to our work. I don't think anyone should be able to dictate to us what those creative outlets should (or shouldn't) be.

I think some of these women are just being themselves, and I applaud that. However, I suspect that some of them have intentionally downplayed their feminine characteristics in order to better fit into these male dominated fields. That is a really common practice I've seen in my career. Some women "assimilate" to fit in with their male counterparts, and I totally get it. I get tired of being underestimated based on my feminine appearance, but instead of assimilating I just choose to be a huge bitch to anyone who underestimates me. It works pretty well too.

I should say that there are people on the other end of the spectrum that try really hard to integrate things that are stereotypically feminine into STEM education. Like, for example, they organize a robotics workshop and make everything HOT PINK. For the record, I find this equally annoying. 

I need a post-vacation vacation

I've had a great time in DC with my mom. However, some of her antics can be exhausting. I think they exhaust her too, which explains how she manages to sleep 12-14 hours a day. It's astounding. We are heading home this afternoon, so it seems like a good time to reflect on our time here.

Karen has a very specific protocol for dealing with the wait staff at restaurants. I've pretty much got it figured out now. First, she introduces herself (and me), and tells them that they look like some celebrity (sometimes they do, usually they don't). Then she has to tell them three stories about her childhood that have no relevance to anything. The stories are incredibly hard to follow. She references people without explaining who they are. "One time he went to that store..." -- only she hasn't said who HE is or mentioned a STORE at all previously. The restaurant is usually very busy, and the person tries to get away multiple times, but she keeps interrupting.

When they finally do get away and eventually come back with our drinks, she goes through this weird shift from acting like everyone has all the time in the world to acting like the world is going to end in 10 minutes. They say something like, "Can I get you ladies an appetizer or answer any questions about the menu?" At this point, Karen will immediately launch into her food order at hyper speed, "I'll have the creamy chicken soup. That doesn't have cream or chicken in it, does it? If it does, I'll have the gluten surprise. That doesn't have gluten or a surprise in it, does it? If it does, I'll have some hot water with lemon. Is that dairy free?" It's hilarious. What kills me is she makes it a point to tell every server that she's lactose intolerant, when I've been watching her throw back 20 ounce glasses of milk for the past 30 years with no ill effects.

If we're in a Mexican restaurant, it's even more of a circus because she will speak broken Spanish to everyone in sight. She doesn't understand that some people of hispanic descent who aren't first or second generation don't necessarily speak Spanish (and they certainly don't speak her version of Spanish). My favorite example of this was a time she kept asking for the check (in Spanish) and the waitress kept bringing her beers. Karen finally used her English words to ask for the check, and the girl felt horrible and had to explain to my mom that her mom was Mexican, but she had grown up in Michigan and didn't speak a word of Spanish. By then, Karen was quite drunk from all those beers.

She has weird words for some things, which I'm sure is a generational thing. Does anyone else have parents who call flip-flops "thongs"? It was incredibly awkward when Karen yelled out, "Oh man, it's raining and we're both wearing thongs!" in front of the National Gallery of Art.

When we went to Colonial Williamsburg, she made me buy tickets for this ghost tour. The tour ended up being this cute series of stories told by actors who were pretending to be some historical resident of the town. I liked it. She didn't like it because there weren't any real ghosts. I don't know exactly what she was expecting, and I'm afraid to ask. I have to admit, it was pretty entertaining that she kept calling the people in colonial costumes "dude."

She went over to Virginia to go to Arlington Cemetery while I was doing research yesterday. I don't know how, but she spent $40 in the gift shop over there. What the hell do you buy in a cemetery gift shop? Again, not going to ask. I wrote out detailed instructions for how to get there on the metro. When we met back up later in the day, she got mad at me because I told her the cemetery was on the blue metro line (it is). She insists that she was on the blue line and it kept going west into Virginia. I told her that she must have been on the orange line, and showed her a metro map that clearly showed Arlington National Cemetery on the blue line. She continued to argue with me. Maybe she thought I spent my day making a fake metro map.

I'm looking forward to getting back to Portland. It's been a fun trip, but all good things must come to an end. I think my brother should take my mom on a trip next summer.

Traveling with my Mom

Before I embarked on this trip to DC with my mom, one of my friends asked me if I had any concerns about traveling with her. My response was, "No, because I know she won't have any firearms." When we arrived at my friend's condo in DC and started unpacking, the first thing that happens is my mom yells, "I can't find my knife... No... wait, I found it! Whew, that was a close one!" She insists on carrying this knife everywhere, and I'm still trying to explain to her that there are certain places in town where she is not going to be allowed to carry a knife.

If you're riding the metro this week, watch out for my mom. She will cut a bitch. I'm not kidding. She tried to fight a lady in a hospital parking lot three days ago. The only reason the fight didn't happen was because the lady refused to get out of her car. This was a smart move on her part because my mom has very long, sharp talons and was probably carrying more than a knife. The funniest part of this story is that when my mom was telling it, she acted like the other lady was the crazy one.

For the most part, traveling with my mom is pretty funny. She won't sit in the seats that face backwards on the metro. She got visibly annoyed because they didn't have old fashioned bed warmers on display in any of the bedrooms at Mt. Vernon. Then she made me take a picture of the paper place mats in the restaurant there. When we went to the Lincoln Memorial, she decided to publicly recite every part of the Gettysburg Address that she had committed to memory. Afterward, she wanted to go to a dance club. It's like traveling with someone who is a weird combination of a 15 year old and an 80 year old.

She had to put about 20 band-aids on her feet last night because she wore a pair of shoes that hadn't been broken in. We stopped about every five minutes so that she could apply another band-aid to her feet. I felt bad, but it was a little bit funny. At one point I was like, "Wouldn't it be great if there was just one big band-aid that covered your whole foot? We should invent that and call it socks." She just looks up at me and goes, "Shut the f*ck up," and then busts up laughing. She doesn't curse very often, so I found that pretty hysterical.

On another note, I know nobody is going to believe this, but we saw two foxes on the national mall last night. I tried to get a picture, but it was too dark.

Running uphill is not an activity from which I derive much enjoyment

For the first time in my life, I have decided to train for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I’ve registered for the 5K for 9 straight years now. I say “registered” because there were a couple of years in my 20’s when I recall being too hung over to actually show up for the race. I told myself I was Sleeping In For the Cure. I'm sure they made great strides in cancer research with my entry fee.

Although I’ve shown up to the race most years, my training has primarily consisted of running between the couch and the pantry to grab a handful of Annie’s bunny grahams while watching a Chopped marathon. Watching the Food Network gives me one hell of an appetite. This leads to a race day performance that is, let’s just say, not representative of my potential.

With the goal of athletic redemption, I devised a training schedule that includes legitimate outdoor running of distances greater than the distance to my local Sunday brunch hangout. Mondays are now “Mile Mondays,” Wednesdays are “Wilderness Wednesdays,” and Fridays are “5K Fridays.” I can’t make things too complicated or I won’t be able to remember what I’m supposed to do. My first “Mile Monday” went pretty well. I clocked a time of less than 10 minutes, which felt like quite a victory.

My first "Wilderness Wednesday" was not such a roaring success. The intent behind Wilderness Wednesdays was to do a trail run. It seemed like a great way to enjoy nature and subsequently not feel like I’m running. I failed to take into consideration how much of our local wilderness is located on the side of a God forsaken mountain.

We decided to kick off Wilderness Wednesdays at Mt. Tabor Park. Maybe my point of view is slightly tainted after running up the face of a mountain for 20 miserable minutes, but that park sucks. The scenery includes way too many reservoirs and people (not the natural experience I had in mind), and did I mention the 20 minutes of running straight uphill? I wanted to die.

Five minutes into the run, I was gasping for breath and insisted that I could not go on. Mario was not sympathetic. He told me I’m just out of shape -- OUT OF SHAPE, HE SAID! I work out six days a week, but he accuses me of being out of shape just because I find it difficult to run up the face of a cliff. I can only think of one legitimate reason when one would ever need to be proficient at running up the face of a cliff, and that’s in the event of a tsunami. Considering that I don’t live on the coast, I don’t think I need to emphasize tsunami preparedness, MARIO.

Ten minutes into the hell run, I got dizzy. I started seeing spots. When I complained about this, Mario was like, “Those are flies, Jen. We’re outside.” I flailed my arms around in front of me and hit a few of the flies. Damn it. He was right. The flies made my situation even more dire (if you can imagine that) because now I had to breathe strictly out of my nose to avoid eating a fly. Again, Mario showed no sympathy for my fat, out-of-shape, pescetarian ass.

Just as I was on the precipice of death, we reached the top. Then we got to run down, which was a real treat for my 33 year old, fat, out-of-shape knees. At the bottom, Mario told me what a great job I’d done, which was a total lie. There’s nothing worse than someone cheering you on in an athletic endeavor when you know you’re doing horribly. It’s like getting a 3^rd place ribbon when there were only three competitors. That has happened to me, so I know exactly how stupid and demoralizing it is.

I can tell you right now that the first “5K Friday” is going to take place on a high school track in the middle of the city, where there are no reservoirs, flies, or mountains. Also, Mario might not be invited. He can go train with his college track friends, who I’m sure are every bit as good at running up mountains as he is and love to eat flies. (Except Leanne -- she’s cool.)

7th Graders are Terrifying

When I tell people that I’m afraid of 7^th graders, they usually laugh. I’m not sure if they think I’m joking or if they’re as terrified as I am and too nervous to admit it. After all, a 7^th grader might be lurking in the bushes.

I have a bevy of irrational fears. When I’m swimming in a pool, I worry about a shark attack. Even though the rational part of my brain knows that this makes absolutely no sense, the primal part of my brain forces me to swim to the side as fast as I can, claw my way out of the pool with a sense of embarrassing urgency, and scan the pool for sharks every ten minutes or so.

I’m convinced that if I turn my back on a 7^th grader for even the briefest of moments, they will taze me and dance on my twitching carcass. I contend that this fear is not irrational. I think anyone who rode my bus in junior high school will agree with me. Have you read Lord of the Flies? Well, that book was based on my 7^th grade bus.

Our bus driver’s name was Jack. At least, that’s what he told us. It would have been wise to use an alias with these kids in order to protect one’s family, but “Jack” would not have been a wise choice, so I can only assume he used his real name. I say it was not a wise choice because The Clapper was very big at the time (clap on, clap off). The theme song translated very well into “Jack on, Jack off.”

Some terrible things happened on that bus – things that only 7^th graders are capable of. I’m not talking about the standard fare of drug use and sexual experimentation. I’m talking about kids slashing the seats with a knife, ripping the foam stuffing out of the seats, soaking it with urine, and throwing it at Jack while he was driving. The stench of rage, fear, and unchecked body odor was heavy in the air. 

Every day, we would inevitably have to turn around and go back to the school because of the horrible events that had taken place. The funny thing is, I have no recollection of what actually happened when we got back to the school. Inhumane torture techniques were probably used to collect evidence against the perpetrators. I can remember my mom having to pick me up at least once a week because Jack refused to resume his driving duties for the day. I’m no psychiatrist, but I think he had PTSD by the end of that year.

This nightmare probably originated from just 2 or 3 kids who had some serious issues. I never carried a knife. I never threw things out the windows. I never assaulted Jack. I didn’t yell obscenities. I kept my pants on. I didn’t smoke anything. I certainly never urinated on anything on the bus, and I’m pretty sure none of my friends did either. However, my first-hand experience of the descent of a few troubled 7^th graders into pure savagery still serves as a cautionary tale.

Every time I encounter a group of 7^th graders, the oldest, most intuitive part of my brain says, “We’ve seen this before. Cross the street.” I will actually take shelter with drunk, homeless, gang members with nunchucks to avoid 7^th graders. I bide my time in the shadows until they proceed to 8th grade, where their complete lack of regard for the human race turns into punk sarcasm and teen angst, which I can handle with ease. 

What I learned from my DNA

Mario and I decided to get our DNA genotyped through a company called 23andMe. For $99, you get to spit in a vial and find out whether you have genes that make you more resistant/pre-disposed to certain medical conditions, sensitive to medications, or likely to display various traits. One of the traits they test for is muscle performance, and I would just like to publicly announce that I am "likely a sprinter." I'm also likely to pull a hamstring while sprinting, which I learned through field research.

So, what else did I discover? I have a decreased risk of Alzheimer's, which is great, because losing my mind is something I worry about pretty regularly. I'm more likely to have blue eyes than green, making me a self-proclaimed anomaly. I don't have the gene for alcoholism, but I really like wine (based on field research again). Finally, and most importantly, Mario and I are not related. My genes tested out at 1-2% Italian, so yeah, I was a little worried at first. I think I especially became paranoid about this after discovering that my parents are 10th cousins Once Removed. (Barf.) I'm considering getting them tested just to prove that their relation is too distant for them to share any DNA. It would make me feel a lot better. Then again, it's been fun telling my dad that inbreeding is likely the reason I couldn't learn to play the piano.

Based on DNA comparison, 23andMe actually provides you with a list of everyone else on the site to whom you're related. I enjoy genealogy (to the point of being borderline obsessive), so I get a kick out of contacting these alleged 3rd cousins to see how we're related. I've been able to figure it out a few times if the other person has a well developed family tree. It's a little bit challenging to find a common relative 4 generations back if the other person hasn't spent as much time on ancestry.com as I have (and most people haven't).

I think the most interesting thing about the relative finder feature is how many relatives I have on the site. I have 989. Mario has 180. Does that seem weird to anyone else? Based on this discovery, I can only conclude that I'm related to almost everyone in America. This means that my parents are also related to almost everyone in America. I guess I should consider myself lucky that they're only 10th cousins once removed. It could have been a lot worse.

My theory is that my colonial ancestry is the reason I'm related to so many people. I have a lot of ancestors who came to the British Colonies in the early 1600's. A lot of people in the US are probably descendants of those first 1,000 Europeans who came to America. Just so everyone doesn't think I'm too crazy, I feel compelled to point out that I'm not going to try to figure out how I'm related to all 989 of my relatives on 23andMe. I'm just going to focus on the top 20... or 30. :)  

Could we be devolving?

Yesterday I walked through an exhibit on evolution at a museum in Austin, and it got me thinking about human evolution. Over time, humans have evolved to have more useful characteristics due to natural selection. Our legs have become longer because those with longer legs could more easily catch food and escape predators, making them more likely to survive and reproduce. Our brains are larger than our ancestors because intelligence also made us more likely to survive and thrive.

Natural selection occurs in nature, but we don't live in nature any more. We live in a superficial world of our own creation where the likelihood of survival and reproduction isn't dependent on having superior genetic traits. People who might have died young due to disease or predisposition to illness live long lives thanks to our knowledge of health and medicine. Could this result in genetic predisposition to disease and illness being proliferated to the next generation? Isn't this the opposite of natural selection: devolution?

I frequently notice behavior in our society that leads me to believe that our culture is changing for the worse, not the better. The population seems to be getting more lazy. People don't appear to care about anything the way they used to. Even in my industry, it seems like innovation is pretty stagnant these days. What we consider innovative would have been considered incremental a generation ago.

Americans used to be idealistic and motivated to pursue their dreams, whatever those may have been. These days, it seems like most people are satisfied with the status quo, or their "dream" is to sit around watching reality television. For a long time now, I've assumed this shift is occurring for cultural reasons. Previous generations established traditions and policies with the intent of giving my generation a better life, but they really just enabled my generation to be lazy, to the detriment of us all.

After walking through that evolution exhibit, I started to wonder whether this shift toward laziness and apathy isn't a result of more than just cultural influences. What if we're actually devolving into dumber, more inept versions of our ancestors due to lack of natural selection? If this is true, we should be diligent to make sure we are progressing as a culture since nature isn't going to do us any favors.

If I could send a message to my generation, it would be this: I don't care what you do, but please do something to make the world a better place. Find something you care about, and take action to influence it for the better. We may be helpless against nature, but we can control the traditions and policies that we establish for the next generation. Let's make sure that the legacy we leave behind is one that makes our future, chimp-like descendants proud. 

I can't believe how hard it is to find a psychiatrist

Ok, I should rephrase that. I can't believe how hard it is to find a psychiatrist who meets my standards.

Over the past two weeks, I've had several bad panic attacks. I've had panic attacks before. I got my first one in 6th grade, so I'm no stranger to them. However, I've had a really enjoyable two year hiatus. I've been doing a great job of managing my anxiety for the past two years, but it's been steadily rising for a few months now. I didn't realize just how bad it had gotten until the panic attacks started. Anxiety is a sneaky bastard.

Upon further reflection, I realized that in a typical day, I am committed to about 28 hours worth of activities. I make it work by doing things like working through lunch, skipping a couple hours of sleep, making phone calls while I'm out running, and eating cereal for dinner. It has actually been working, and I've taken great pride in this. Note that when I say that it is "working," I mean I've barely managed to stay alive.

The reality is that I've been burning the candle at both ends. I'm tired. I'm agitated. When the smallest unexpected thing happens, I can't handle it. I just didn't plan time for it in my schedule, and I can't afford any set backs. Unexpected things always happen (especially at my job), so the pile of commitments just keeps on growing. I feel like I'm drowning, so I'm in constant fight or flight mode. I prefer fight to flight, so I'm a real pleasure to be around. Considering all this, it's no surprise that I started having panic attacks again. I don't really have time in my busy schedule to hang out on the floor hyperventilating, so the time has come (once again) for me to enlist the help of a professional.

When I went to the Cigna website, I just assumed there would be dozens of mental health professionals of the highest caliber waiting to solve my problems. My primary requirement was that they were in my health insurance network because I don't need the extra stress of burning $100 bills. Once I started perusing the list, I realized my requirements were actually more numerous.

First and foremost, I refuse to consider any doctor in Vancouver. I don't think any explanation is required there.

From there, it starts to get a little fuzzy. I don't like one doctor's name. I feel like I can't trust someone with a name like "Magna Doodlepants" to help me. That wasn't actually it, but I assure you that it was equally stupid.

I don't like the next lady because she doesn't seem very solutions focused. I don't need to pay someone just to listen to me. My friends do that for free as long as I give them wine and cookies.

I don't like the next lady because she has only been practicing in this country for a couple of years, and I feel like she won't understand the cultural influences that are contributing to my anxiety.

I Google the next doctor, find a picture of her, and I'm convinced she's missing an eye. She isn't wearing an eye patch, but one of her eyes is clearly fake. I know I would just stare at it and wonder if she lost it in a knife fight instead of focusing on my shit.

The next lady is 80 years old. I can't deal with old people smell. You can't get it out of your clothes.

The next lady looks PERFECT, but specializes in pediatric psychology. Why is she showing up in my search? Clearly just to taunt me with what I can't have.

This literally goes on until I reach the end of the list, and it finally dawns on me that I know exactly what I'm looking for: Me, but a psychiatrist. Who would better understand ME than someone who is like ME: a Portland-dwelling woman under the age of 80 with a normal name who solves problems and isn't missing any body parts. I'll be damned, but she doesn't exist, so I called to make appointments with three doctors who almost met that criteria.

I'm convinced that this is going to be a terrific disaster, but I guess I don't really have much of a choice. Wish me luck.

My Anxious Life: Part 1.

I’ve always been very private about my anxiety, but I’ve come to realize that I’m just a little different from most people, and there is nothing wrong with that. In fact, my anxiety has provided me with the motivation and drive that has made me so successful and happy in life. However, my life would have been considerably easier if the anxiety had been diagnosed earlier.

I know my parents feel guilty for not recognizing my anxiety when I was a kid. They recognized early on that I was very smart, and they did their best to encourage my intellectual development. They knew I was different, but they figured the anxiety-driven behaviors were just side effects of high intellect. I actually think that might be true to some extent. Everyone I know who has been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder is extremely intelligent, so maybe there is a correlation.

I wish I could have explained my anxiety to my parents when I first became aware of it at the age of three. However, even an intelligent child usually doesn’t have the self-awareness or real world perspective to recognize what the hell is going on when they have anxiety.

“Mom. Dad. Certain shit has come to light, and I think I would benefit from seeing a psychiatrist.”

I wish it would have been that way, but it wasn’t, and I don’t blame my parents for not understanding something they had probably never had any experience with. I plan to write a series of blogs about my experiences with anxiety. Maybe you’ll recognize some of these behaviors in the children or adults in your life and be able to help them identify the source and seek some help. Maybe you’ll just become more aware of generalized anxiety disorder, a condition that affects millions of Americans. It’s also possible that you’ll just find the stories entertaining, and that’s ok too.

My earliest memories of having anxiety are from my first year of pre-school. It was blanket anxiety stemming from the fact that the other 3 year olds stressed me the fuck out. They couldn’t sit still. They were loud. They were unpredictable. Sometimes they threw tantrums. They slept during nap time, which was probably the only thing they did that didn’t scare me. I would lie awake quietly during nap time, savoring the silence and wondering when I would be allowed to “wake up” and read.

I told my parents that I didn’t like school because I didn’t like the other kids. A discussion immediately ensued between the two of them about my socialization (or perhaps lack thereof) with other kids my age. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I could tell that they were troubled by the situation. Soon thereafter, I had a couple of play dates with other kids my age. These play dates were slightly less stressful than school since there was only one crazy kid there, but they really weren’t enjoyable for me. I immediately learned to refrain from complaining about school.

Since there wasn’t any help coming to save me from the anxiety I felt as school, I had to figure out some way to alleviate the anxiety. I would bite the inside of my mouth because that seemed to take my mind off of the situation. I could focus on my throbbing, bloody lip instead of the kid who was running around screaming “POOP!!!” Unfortunately, that didn’t always work. Sometimes there were several kids running around screaming, and on those days I needed a more powerful antidote. I started biting my hands and arms whenever I went to the bathroom. I didn’t bite them very hard, just hard enough to distract myself. The marks went away within minutes, and I felt considerably better.

Then there was a day I can clearly remember when about 10 kids shit their pants. Someone must have put laxatives in the apple sauce. The whole place smelled like the inside of a port-a-potty. The kids who shit their pants were crying. The kids who didn’t shit their pants were crying on account of the smell, and who could blame them? I couldn’t take all that noise and shit stench, so I bit the hell out of my arms during the next bathroom trip. I bit them too hard. The marks didn’t go away.

The teachers didn’t notice, but my parents did.

Mom says: “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARMS!?”

I think: Uh-oh. She’s mad. This isn’t good.

Mom says: “JENNIFER, I ASKED YOU A QUESTION.”

I think: I don’t want to lie, but I can’t tell the truth.

Mom says: “ANSWER ME, JENNIFER. WHAT HAPPENED?”

I say: “Someone bit me.” True, but a lie by omission of key details.

Mom says: “WHAT!? WHO?”

I think: Shit. ShitShitShit. Think fast.

Mom says: “PLEASE ANSWER ME.”

I say: “Michelle.”

Michelle was the biggest bully in the pre-school, and was always inflicting injuries on the other kids. I didn’t want to lie. I really didn’t. I’ve always hated lying, but somehow, I knew that the truth would fuck me over way more than the guilt of the lie in this situation. I still feel bad about the lie to this day.

Michelle obviously denied everything, but they didn’t believe her because she was such a horrible kid. The truth is, she didn’t get into much trouble. They just told her that she couldn’t keep beating up on the other kids, which I’m pretty sure was already part of the regular bi-weekly lecture she was getting for socking kids in the stomach. I never hurt myself again because I couldn’t bear the thought of telling another lie, or worse yet, getting caught in the truth.

How much do clothes cost in the Matrix?

Grandma's Boy is a hilarious movie. If you haven't seen it, you probably should. There's this character in the movie named JP who wears a full length black leather trench coat everywhere. At one point, there is a great exchange where the main character ends up saying, "Wow JP, that's a great outfit. How much do clothes cost in the Matrix?" I tried on this dress at Nordstrom today, and I can now inform you all that clothes cost $355 in the Matrix. I love Theory, but wow. Just wow.

Nordstrom is carrying this brand called "Milly" now that I'm not really familiar with, but their stuff is really intriguing. They have some really hot stuff, like these leather pants and this sweater. I might actually order the sweater. I would have a harder time justifying a leather pants purchase, but I still love them. However, Milly also had some stuff that I just didn't "get", like this horrible dress (1985 prom reject) and this skirt. I can kind of see what they were going for with the skirt, but the reality is that it would only look good on about two people on earth, and they're both skeletons. Either way, I like the designers for taking risks and being interesting.

I was super disappointed that Nordstrom only had about 10 swimsuits available in the store. I understand that it's the end of fall, but where is all the resort stuff? Come on! I guess I'll just wear a swimsuit from last year and hope nobody at the resort in Mexico notices. If they do, I don't know what I'll do. I'll just die of embarrassment, I guess.

I love fall and winter in the shoe department because the smell of leather is absolutely intoxicating. Despite being completely inappropriate for the season, I'm very drawn to these. I know they would be a violation of one of my fundamental shoe rules (Jimmy Choo for open toe pumps, Prada for closed toe pumps), but perhaps I would make an exception for these. On the other hand, I should probably buy a new refrigerator instead. Our ice maker is broken, and Mario keeps hitting it with a rolling pin to keep it from making this loud, annoying grumbling noise.

You might be driving me crazy

I'm exhausted this week. You probably aren't driving me crazy, but you might be if you...

... said something was impossible when we both know you just didn't want to do it.

... did something you agreed not to do, and then acted surprised that I was upset about it. When I said "Please don't do X any more", I meant ever.

... aren't listening. I have better things to do than talk to you if you're not going to listen.

... asked me the same question repeatedly. I heard your question the first time, and I answered it. I'm not going to change my response just because you asked again 10 seconds later. Please leave me alone.

... acted like a crazed maniac when I tried to do something nice for you. If I buy you a cup of coffee, it's because I want to and I can afford to. You don't have to make a huge deal out of it and then sneak $2 into my purse when I'm not looking.

... are talking and don't really have anything to say. Why should I suffer just because you're uncomfortable with silence?

... are making a ton of noise while I'm trying to work. My work requires concentration. Shut up.

... came to work sick. It's not a big deal for us to work from home. Get your sick germs out of here.

... insisted that the dancing on 'Dancing with the Stars' is good. I respect dancers for their dedication, athleticism, and artistic talent. To say that some D-list celebrity is a legitimate dancer is just insulting to real dancers.

... took something of mine without asking and didn't return it. I bought that because I needed it.

... said you were going to do something, and didn't do it. Why did you even commit to it in the first place?

... said you were going to do something, and then did a shitty job on it. I would have rather done it myself.

... did something that resulted in me having to spend a bunch of money. I don't like it when my own stupidity costs me money; I definitely don't want to have to pay for other peoples' stupidity.

... acted like your lack of planning constituted an emergency on my part. If you didn't plan ahead, you're the one with the problem.

You don't have to be a genius to change the world

I got my Mensa test results over the weekend, and was shocked to discover that I qualified for membership. I can only assume that my tests got mixed up with the lady next to me who completed every section early while I was struggling to fill in the last bubbles as time was being called. I was equally shocked to see that they provided my actual scores, which was totally unexpected based on what they told me before. If you're equipped with your raw test scores and a high school level education in mathematics, the Mensa website provides all the information you need to determine your IQ. I did this and determined that my IQ is 152.55, which I'll gladly round up to 153.

Upon calculating this, I immediately wondered what the hell that number meant. I enlisted some help from Google and discovered that there isn't a whole lot of agreement out there on what that number means. Some people say that you're a "genius" if your IQ is over 140, while some say the cut-off is 145, and others say it is 160. I'm apt to go with the 160 since I'm positive that I'm not a genius. I also decided that the term "genius" is probably kind of worthless. There is such a huge difference in intelligence between someone with an IQ of 160 vs. 170, but they are both considered to be in the genius range.

Google turned up some pages with estimated IQ's of some famously smart people, which is complete bullshit if you ask me. If someone had asked Mozart what the opposite of a tree was, he probably would have been smart enough to stand up and walk out of the room. I'm not even convinced that the tests I took accurately assessed my IQ. To try to apply those tests to someone who is dead seems like a complete waste of time.

While perusing the list of famously smart people and their supposed IQ's, I realized that what these people really had in common wasn't a high IQ. What they actually had in common was that they accomplished incredible feats in their fields and made a profound impact on the world. Statistically speaking, about 1 in every 11,000 people has an IQ over 160, which means that there are over 600,000 "geniuses" living in the world today. However, there were only 20 or 30 people on these lists of famously smart people whose IQ's were estimated. Being a genius definitely isn't what made those people special.

Despite my allegedly high IQ, I don't think any of my intellectual pursuits have made much of an impact on anyone. I'd be shocked if anyone has even looked at my hierarchical model for predicting delay variability in digital circuits due to process variation. I haven't even been able to invent a low cost eco-friendly toilet paper that doesn't leave any debris behind after a single swipe. At least I'm trying.

The things I've done that have made the biggest impact on the world aren't intellectual pursuits at all. The impactful pursuits have all been pursuits of love, kindness, and compassion. Those are things that anyone can do, regardless of a meaningless IQ score. If everyone set aside one hour every week to help someone in need, we would see a big change in the world. What can you do for someone else this week?