Buddy, Can You Spare Some Respect?

Often as I am writing these blog posts at my desk near the window, I hear the voices of eager young folks on my sidewalk below (the downside of a second floor apartment) beseeching passers-by to “take a moment” for Planned Parenthood or Save the Children or gay rights or animals.  After two or three hours of their philanthropic chanting, I need to muster all the tolerance I have not to drop a dozen organic free-range eggs on their well-meaning heads.

It’s not that I’m against fundraising – I’m not – it’s just that these kids give fundraising a bad name and I’m sick and tired of it.

I spent more than 25 years of my life raising funds for various, worthy non-profits in New York City. And perhaps the most frustrating aspect of this career was how woefully misunderstood , underappreciated and maligned it was. It’s weird, when you think about it. Why people would discount the efforts of a cadre of professionals trying to make a positive difference in the world. Not so weird, when you realize that their pocketbooks are affected.  Anyone who has worked with money – whether they’re a teller or a mortgage lender or a cashier – can tell you that people get pretty touchy when it comes to their funds.

I came into fundraising the way most of us do: I was a directionless graduate with good communications skills who wanted to help but didn’t want to get my hands dirty (so to speak.) Actually, I worked in the development office of my college as my work-study job as an undergraduate.  My job was to read the files in the corporate and foundation relations department and prepare a one-page summary. To me, each file was like a mini-novel, a tale of meetings and letters that led to buildings erected, professors hired and other lofty achievements. Much of the history had happened decades before my birth and the correspondence was typed on onion skin paper. I felt like a philanthropic Indiana Jones.  I could work in peace and quiet, practice my writing, but there were also swanky parties and receptions to attend. And I could be part of making the world a better place. I was sold.

So that is how I started my career. I wrote corporate and foundation grants that helped to fund rehabilitation programs for disabled men and women and feed hungry New Yorkers. Then I went on to learn how to throw tasteful reception for donors, craft an effective direct mail appeal, create mutually-beneficial cause-marketing campaigns, guide board members as they approached their wealthy and influential friends, ease donors into charitable estate planning, manage junior committees, design five-year strategic plans, build websites, establish facebook pages, while tending to the needs of my staff, my board, my bosses, my donors, the public, government officials and more.  And let’s not forget that ever-looming budget I was responsible for raising – the proverbial sword of Damocles -- hung over my head until the final day of the fiscal year.

Despite all the skills, expertise, experience, patience, tolerance and love needed to be successful in this career, I still received comments like this: “oh, you’re a fundraiser….my daughter does that too. She runs the bake sale for the temple,” or “fundraising, huh?  You must be on the phone all day. “  Or people would joke that they wanted me to raise money for their wallet, or they’d immediately jump to discussing one of the rare, ugly scandals involving non-profits. 

Sure it irked me, but it never stopped me. I truly believed in what I was doing and I still do.  It’s not easy to ask for money but that’s not what I thought I was doing. I believed that I was selling a much-desired commodity. It is my conviction that most people want to improve the world in one way or another: some want more art and music, others want to protect animals or children, millions want to cure cancers and other diseases or eradicate hunger. For those people, I have provided a way for them to be part of the solution.  I have ensured them that their funds will be used responsibly and safely to make the world better in just the way they want. And I have given them a nice way to take a tax-deduction and earn a bit more self-esteem. And, if there gift was big enough, they’d get some public recognition too. Not too shabby.

So this is why I want to douse those guerilla marketing pseudo-fundraisers below my window. They have taken the art and science of fundraising and turned it into begging and accosting – everything I have always feared  people will think it is.  But the problem is it works. And that is another thing I learned in my career: if it works, do it. Do you know why you get telemarketing calls at home? Because it works. Maybe not for you, but there are those who will sign up for whatever they’re selling on the phone. Maybe you don’t like direct mail appeals crowding your mail box but millions still send in a check this way (including my mother, God bless her!) Maybe you would never show up for a black-tie fundraiser, but they are still selling lots of $1,000 plates.

So the next time you get a call, or email or are greeting by a smiling young person on the street, I hope you will reserve judgment. But more than that, I hope you will think about the difference you can make in the world – whether you sign over your credit card to that young person, or join a walk-a-thon, or send a check in the mail or get your company to sponsor a charity.  Philanthropy is truly a beautiful American tradition and the folks behind it are – for the vast part – honest, skilled hard-working people.  

For those of you looking to support some great charities at this time of year I am happy to recommend the following:

City Harvest - rescues food that would otherwise go to waste and helps hungry New Yorkers

League of Conservation Voters - ensures that environmental issues are at the forefront of political campaigns

ASPCA - helps protect animals and sponsors adoptions

Brooklyn Museum - a vastly underrated but amazingly powerful cultural institution

Green Chimneys - pairs at-risk youth with animals that need rehabilitation in a farm setting

Gods Love We Deliver - delivers nutritious meals to people with AIDS and other terminal illnesses.

City Meals on Wheels - provides companionship and meals to elderly and frail New Yorkers.

 

 

Bubble Baths vs. Broccoli

Last Sunday, I posted something on Facebook that got more likes and comments than anything I’d posted in many moons. I wrote, “Today I achieved something I haven’t done in years, today I did nothing.” My friends, knowing me – or perhaps just knowing what it’s like to live in today’s world -- were very proud of me, inspired, jealous and enthusiastic. I received all these accolades just because I decided to rest and ignore my responsibilities for a day.

When you think of it it’s kind of a sad and scary statement about our lives, that such a simple thing to do to take care of yourself is noticed and lauded by a huge crowd of people. But self-care has become a rarity for many people I know (and millions I don’t.) And more troubling than that, self-care is a very misunderstood concept.

In fact, for many, many years I used to think I was an expert in self-care because I didn’t eat red meat, slept in on the weekends, walked my dog and treated myself to a spa day now and then and a cupcake when I deserved it (which seemed to be nearly every day!) But at 47 years old at the end of two of the most horrible, challenging years of my life, I felt achy and heavy, wasn’t sleeping well, was irritable and anxious most of the time and thought about death – a lot. It took me a long time to realize that I might have indulged myself and definitely cared for others but I had lost the ability to adequately care for myself.

Think about it, if someone asked what was involved in the proper care of an infant how would you answer? Well, you’d probably start with food. They need very specific food: breast milk or formula and then baby food. They don’t need a cronut or a diet coke – in fact, that will likely make them very ill.  Then you might mention sleep. Babies need a lot of sleep. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t learned to walk or talk yet – that will come in time. They don’t need to stay up just because that project isn’t completed. They need calm and quiet. They need warmth and safety. And they need touch and love to thrive. And, guess what, so do we.

But yet the beauty, fashion and food industries try to tell us that self-care is all external and needs to be purchased. Remember, “Calgon, take me away!” Almost every article you read in women’s magazines will mention the ubiquitous bubble bath as an example of self-care. Sure we all need to bathe, but a sudsy soak will never replace a nutritious diet, regular exercise, adequate rest, ongoing stress management and healthy relationships. Getting your nails done, a bottle of Merlot, or a shopping spree help won’t help really care for yourself either. This is pampering, not self-care. This is buying the baby a cuddly toy, not cleaning its bum.

I know this is an especially difficult pill to swallow for most of us – especially women and other caretakers. We would never consider ignoring our partners, children or aging parents. We have their health and well-being in mind all the time, but we love to put ourselves last -- just like I did during my annus horribilis. Unfortunately, sometimes it takes a crisis (health or otherwise), absolute exhaustion (mental or physical) or an external intervention to wake us up to the fact that we are abusing and neglecting ourselves – that if we were, in fact, caring for an infant the way we are caring for ourselves, child welfare would come and snatch that kid up never to return her to our home.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t turn around one day, put down the potato chips and become a shining example of health and serenity. I took it one step at a time, one day at a time. As I began to educate myself through the Wellness Certificate program at NYU, and now as a student at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition I began to learn and incorporate the REAL components of self-care. To keep it simple, here’s a list:

Sleep – at least 7 hours a night (I must admit I thrive on 9 hours). If you’re having trouble with this see an earlier post or message me.

Nutrition – Eat a variety of fresh fruit, veggies, whole grains, good fats and lean protein. Limit everything else.

Water – drink lots of it.  So many symptoms of physical illness and food cravings are actually just thirst.

Exercise – Make weight bearing exercises (either machines, free weights or your own weight) part of your weekly routine. Add cardio in between. Don’t forget to stretch. Aim for at least 150 minutes a week (hey, that’s just a bit over 20 minutes a day!)

Spirituality – carve out some time for peace and quiet, share gratitude, enjoy nature, meditate, pray, go to your house of worship…whatever it is, get out of yourself and feel connected to something greater than you.

Relationships – Make sure you spend time with people who love, support and appreciate you on a regular basis and limit the time you spend (including the phone) with what I call “emotional vampires.”

Fun and Creativity – all work and no play doesn’t just make Jack a dull boy, it slowly kills our spirit. Pick up an old hobby. Go play mini golf. Chase your pup around the house or park. Write that story that’s been knocking around your brain.

Feed Your Brain – Just like any muscle, if you don’t challenge it, it will atrophy. Try puzzles, watch a documentary, go to a museum or lecture, pick up a book on a subject you’re not familiar with – whatever makes you strain your gray matter a bit.

Take Stock of your Work Life: Are you happy, fulfilled and challenged? Do you like the environment or does it sap you of energy? What about your coworkers, boss and employees…do these relationships need work? What needs to be changed? Can you ask for help? Make a change? Can you leave (see me waving good bye to my thankless job in 2012.)

You can see why it’s impossible to do all of this at once if you have been ignoring yourself for a long time. That’s why it’s a good idea to pick one or two and try to see if you can improve that aspect of care on a regular basis, before moving on to the next one.

Just a year ago I felt old, worn out and sluggish.  I had difficulty switching positions in bed at night. I ate whatever I craved, whenever I craved it, but rarely got any joy from it.  I made a priority of getting my Will in order. I depended on solely my TV for fun and entertainment. I had lost touch with many of my favorite friends. I hated my job. I hadn’t written anything in years.  But yet, I thought I was taking care of myself.  A year later I can’t believe that was me at all. Today I have energy, enthusiasm and fun in my life. And I’m 28 pounds lighter, lowered my blood pressure and cholesterol as well!

Again, please contact me if you need help incorporating any of these suggestions for self-care in your life. I invite you to skip along on this happy road with me.

 

 

 

The End of the Affair

If you see me on the street, please be kind. I’m feeling a bit vulnerable and shaken. Last week I ended a relationship that spanned nearly twenty years. I left Time Warner Cable and switched to FIOS.

I can remember how the relationship started. I was a young woman moving to the big city full of hopes and dreams. Okay, I was 30 years old and moving into my studio in Gramercy Park. I honestly can’t recall if I had a choice in cable providers but that was ok. I was already in love. I was coming from a home where we still used an antenna and our viewing choices were limited only to the networks and their local affiliates. Now, I had myriad cable stations, I had HBO and I had what was to become my constant companion, NY1.

I miss you Pat!

Honestly, I start to choke up when I think about Pat Kiernan, Roger Clark, Roma Torre (and her ubiquitous crested blazer) and all the gang at NY1. I awoke to them every morning of my life since that fateful first installation on 22^nd Street. It was Pat Kiernan who broke the news to me that the first plane had crashed into the towers. I witnessed Roger Clark's triumphant weight loss day by day, month by month and then began to notice as the pounds packed back on.

NY1 was my subway guru, my weather – and subsequently – wardrobe advisor, my political insider, my protector (by alerting me to crimes and fuzzy videos of suspects), and even told me what other television I should be watching (I was a devotee to their “Watching Pictures On Demand” show.)

How could I ever give all of that up?

The truth is, no matter how much I loved NY1, my relationship with Time Warner Cable was an abusive one.  Over the years, TWC had done some rather unforgiveable things to me and I just kept turning the other cheek.

For instance, once my cable just died, out of nowhere, just stopped working. I called TWC and they tried to blame me by asking questions like, “is it plugged in, is it turned on?” etc. etc. They told me that I’d have to wait five days for a technician to come. I spent five days listening to music and playing old videos (the horror!) And when they finally arrived it turned out that a technician had turned off my cable (in the hallway) instead of a neighbor 's who had moved out. TWC didn’t send flowers, didn’t beg for mercy on bended knee. In fact, they fought me when I asked for a refund for those days without service.

Then there was the time when I had the audacity to cancel my “hotspot” because it NEVER worked. I had signed up to have my own personal wifi for my ipad because I was travelling back and forth to Palm Springs so often during my father’s illness, and needed to work and stay in touch constantly. When my father was actually dying and I was stranded in LA airport waiting for a connection I tried valiantly and the hotspot wouldn’t let me connect to try to find an earlier flight. I was helpless and TWC had abandoned me yet again – and when I needed them most.

One of the first things I did after he died, and I flew home was to call TWC. The customer (dis)service representative on the other line either had most of their frontal lobe removed or had been a Nell-like creature raised in the wild by something other than sentient beings. I went through my story, bit by bit and emphasized that this was a life and death situation – literally. And, besides that, the damn thing never worked. Not in doctor’s offices, not in homes, never. Therefore, I should be allowed to quit my contract without any fee. This female voice on the other end of the line refused and without any sort of empathy or remorse. I mean, how can you listen to someone tell a story of their father dying just three days before and not express some sympathy? It got so bad and so frustrating that I actually asked if she was a human being. She did not respond. Eventually, I spoke to enough people and made enough fuss that I was refunded the surcharge for termination – but it took months.

That should've been the final straw but it wasn't. I continued to take the abuse. There were outages for no reason; periodic pixilation during the Big Bang Theory; dropping the arts station, Ovation; capricious charges; constant billing increases; and; finally, the hubris of the CBS shutdown in August.

But still I wasn’t moved to switch. Like a spouse stuck in an abusive marriage, I just kept thinking it would get better – or at least not worse. I was reminded of one of my favorite sayings, “there are two things that people hate most: change, and the way things are!” That's why despite having consistently abysmal customer service ratings, TWC is still number one. Like others I kept asking myself, "What if I gave up Time Warner and my beloved NY1 and I wasn’t happy, what then? Would TWC take me back, would I have to pay some sort of fine, stay home for entire day waiting for them as a penance. And was I too old to learn a new channel lineup?"  The future was already uncertain, I needed the certainty that my cable gave me no matter the cost.

So, how did I find the courage to leave my abuser? Well, I didn’t. One of the great things of having a husband is that sometimes they’ll do for you what you can’t do for yourself.

One day FIOS was camped out in my lobby. I smiled as I walked by, like seeing one of those marvelously handsome naval officers during Fleet Week. Nothing would ever happen between us as long as I was in a committed relationship so why not smile. But my husband did more than smile, did more than flirt. He hooked us up.  

Loyalty and familiarity are hugely powerful, but so is money. When we realized that we could have a fresh start with a new suitor while saving $40 a month (not to mention the $300 gift card that should come in 12-16 weeks) things changed.

So last week, we hosted Mike, a very bright friendly FIOS technician, in our home for four hours. It was nerve wracking. Not so much because a stranger is untangling an overgrown ivy plant from some embarrassingly dusty cable wires and overhearing private conversations about my nephew, but because it represented my divorce from NY1 and from everything I knew about my television, my lover.

A week later, I’m proud to report that I’m on steadier ground. I printed out a list of my favorite channels. I’ve already memorized TLC, QVC and where the HD networks are. Heck, not bad for a 40-something, right? The picture is noticeably clearer, there are a ton more premium channels, and a local weather station. But no NY1.

Each day I wake up at the crack of 10 am (or 11 honestly) hoping to find out what’s going on in my world (because my world is NYC) and I’m shut out. I fumble around the dial trying to find something of substance and instead are presented with the Price is Right or the View. MSNBC seems to only have pundits talking about stuff I already know and not even that smartly. So I am forced to turn off the TV, read the New York Times on line, and then get to my writing or studying or house work or exercise. Hmmm?

Yes, I have found that without my friends at NY1, I get more done. I feel more productive and therefore happier.

But if you have NY1 and I visit your home, I hope you won’t mind if I sit down for an hour or five just to spend a little time with my old loves. ‘Cause breaking up is hard to do.