Sunday evening—or maybe it was early Monday morning—I was browsing channels on my radio (I don’t have a TV, my PC was turned off, and audio files are  too large for my Palm Centro) and stopped when to listen to a business report on the benefits of keeping a journal in a job search.  This interested me because the reporter (whose name I thought was Steve Greenberg but am not certain) mentioned that there is research to validate this statement.  Doing a quick search on the website of WCBS NEWSRADIO and a general search of the web, I couldn’t find the audio of the report or a reference to the research.  If you know of any, please let me know.  I’ll continue to search and let you know as well.

The topic was so close to my own way of processing stressful situations, that I remember the essence of what was reported.  That is, job seekers who keep a journal are in better emotional shape for the next interview than those who do not keep a journal.  There could have been a statement that the research showed those who keep a journal are more likely to land a job offer.  That would make sense but I’m not certain about that fact.

What I do know is that journal writing is a helpful tool to process emotions.  If you are able to “debrief” an interview while being  100% candid and honest  about your strengths and challenges, chances are that the next interview will be a better one.   You’ve taken the time to reflect on what you did well and what you did not so well.  Possibly, you are more honest with yourself writing in a journal than you could have been having a conversation with a significant other or a good friend.  A journal doesn’t judge or hold accountable.  That blank piece of paper you fill up is for you and feedback is what you, not a journal, generates.

Journal writing is a tool that can aid in recording sentences that you can practice for your next interview at the same company (think positive) or for a first interview at another company.  Jotting down small talk or ice breakers (“What a great day” or “Snowing again! When is this going to stop?  Do you know it snowed in Dallas?”) or key phrases you want to include in a conversation (“I’m a multi-tasker” or “Focus is a key to productivity”) can reinforce what you want to practice when meeting someone new in their office—or when networking at a professional meeting.

What would be helpful as well is to write out what the interviewer asked you specifically and how they asked the questions.  That is, was their wording “canned” or did it seem targeted to you as a potential candidate whose resume they had read thoroughly?  Were they fully present for you or did they toss questions your way while looking at their computer screen or checking their IPhone messages?  Writing about how you could interject their activities into a positive statement can be wonderful preparation for your next encounter with a distracted interviewer.  What do I mean by a positive statement?  “You’re great at multi-tasking.  That’s a great skill and one I’m certain to learn when I am working in your area/on your team/in the company to be as efficient as possible.”  That could make the interviewer blush that he was noticed multi-tasking or that she was caught checking e-mails to confirm her next interview.

Although I will continue searching for this research, I feel comfortable posting this entry on my blog because the information is solid and helpful to those looking to ace a job interview.  My own journals date back to the time I was a junior at the University of California at Berkeley about— well, a long time ago.  Through the years, okay decades, I’ve taught journal writing to students in adult education courses and to individuals.  To this day, I still go to my journal to write about a coaching or consulting client, letting my creativity flow so that I can come up with new ideas to reduce their obstacles blocking optimum performance or break down challenges executives are facing with behavior in the organization.  If you’re interested in learning how to make the most of your journal writing during a job search or preparing to pitch a client, contact me at leigh@ltr-nyc.com  for a free half-hour consultation.

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

How do you celebrate late fall holidays?  What memories do these celebrations evoke for you of holidays past?  How do you manage your energy when the season seems to be full of business parties, family gatherings, and year-end business (or semester-end) deadlines?

As students were leaving the management class I teach on Tuesday, November 24, I wished them a “Happy Thanksgiving”.  Based on my previous blog post “My Thanksgiving Ritual” it’s obvious that the holiday is important for me.  Giving thanks, being with family and friends, eating special foods around giving thanks is the most meaningful celebration of my year.  Yet, Thanksgiving the holiday is not that important for everyone.

The Tuesday after Thanksgiving, I asked a student intern in the Management Department, “How was your Thanksgiving?”  She told me that she and her family don’t celebrate Thanksgiving; they are Muslim and enjoyed a traditional feast on the following day.

As co-chair of the NYC Employee Assistance Professional Association (EAPA)-Women’s Issues Committee, I recently helped to facilitate a discussion on the many ways that the holidays are celebrated at this time of year.  We talked about Christmas and the joy of singing carols, we talked about Hanukkah and the meaning of gelt, we talked about Kawanzaa and the rituals that were developed in 1966 by Rod Karenga.

One of our members quietly spoke up to say that Christmas was a very special holiday for her family.  It wasn’t about a tree, the food, the presents.  Their marking of the holiday was spiritual and about the religious meaning and their being together as a family.

Memories both wonderful and traumatic surface at this time of year.  The time dad was drunk and knocked over the Christmas tree or hit a child, the times both your parents made spectacles of themselves at a party, the inability to get out of a truly dysfunctional home to be with neighbors in their peaceful home.  Memories that can fade when they are replaced with new memories by meaningful sharing with significant others.

We—well, I know I do—seem to travel at a faster pace during the holidays, moving around like the Energizer Bunny.  From Thanksgiving Eve watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade balloons get blown up to the time the ball drops in Time Square on New Year’s Eve, we are surrounded by a marketing assault to buy, buy, buy and special discount prices in ads that seem to be everywhere, music in lobbys and department stores that doesn’t always put you in the holiday mood because it’s not the holiday you celebrate, and the bills that come due for the gifts you charge.

My holiday shopping done when I was in Tuolumne County over Thanksgiving, my joy now is to celebrate the light I find in this season by giving final marks to my wonderful students who moved out of their comfort zones to learn about organizational behavior from me, getting together with friends to exchange thoughtful gifts,  baking of a carrot cake for the staff at my gym, and soaking in the bright lights of the breathtaking decorations all around Manhattan.

However you mark this season of holidays, I wish you a universal message of health, love, and peace.

As a young child, I’d get up on Thanksgiving morning with the smell and look of wonderful food filling my senses.  While Mom was busy cooking a 22 pound turkey, making homemade Parker House rolls (the best I ever tasted), and creating the rest of our traditional meal, I’d watch the Macy’s parade on the TV.  Later, I’d join my sisters in getting the table ready for dinner that could include seven or twelve or more family members and friends.

Mom was born in New York City and left in 1920—before the Macy’s parade started in 1924.  Living in Los Angeles on what could have been a pretty warm day, we watched the thematic floats roll by on the TV screen, marching bands from around the country perform, and large balloons guided by strong ropes and stronger Macy employees float along the parade route of onlookers looking as if they were freezing.

Maybe that’s the reason that a couple of years after I moved into an appartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan just two blocks from where the Macy’s balloons get blown up on Thanksgiving Eve, I was attracted to seeing the characters come to life.

Snoopy in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade 2008

Specifically, I began inviting friends over to share some food and drink then join me in walking over to see the ballons.  There was something magical about looking at flat pieces of heavy-duty plastic grow into a form that brought memories and a smile of delight to those watching.

The idea for having my ‘annual’ event was also routed in the Christmas Eve party that my sister-in-law Jean had every year.  It was a time to feast but also to join together to sing Christmas Carols and catch up with those that I hadn’t seen for a year.

Maybe it was 1991 when my annual Thanksgiving ritual became a part of my life.  Each year after that, the guest list got bigger and my home fuller with clients, friends, neighbors, and family.  In 2002, I didn’t have a party since I was getting ready to remodel my home; the following year, my sister Alice died a few days before Thanksgiving.  I was sick with exteme grief and loss when a friend called to tell me he had ticket to the reviewing stand of the parade. 

This year, I continue with my holiday ritual, remembering Mom and Jean, and their influence on my own Thanksgiving party, the many people who have shared the gathering with me, and the new generation of Hendersons who are now being educated on the magic of the balloons.

May the holiday be happy and your Thanksgiving meaningful.

On Sunday, November 1, over 42,000 registered runners in the New York City Marathon sped, ran, walked, or limped through the streets of the five boroughs. As the premium runners raced their way through Staten Island, Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, and Manhattan, the majority of runners ran at a slower pace.

Runners nearing the finish line

As in years past, I like to watch the runners as they near the finish line, specifically those who take four or more hours to finish the 26.2 mile course—a course the leaders had run in just over two hours.

This year, I found a place behind a barricade just past the 26 mile sign in Central Park.  That vantage point gave me the opportunity to slap hands with runners zooming with enthusiasm that they were close to reaching  their goal or dragging with focused determination that they would reach the finish line even if they had to crawl.

Many of those going past had their names on their t-shirts, a way to tell the total crowd of over a million cheerleaders along the route that they wanted a shout out of, “Hi, Amy (or Frances or Tim or…). Keep going. You’re doing great.”

One man was more direct with not just his want for a shout out but a need to be encouraged. On this man’s shirt was a directive, “Yell, Hi, Art!”

Of course, I, as did others around me, did yell, “Hi, Art!”

My working to be a leader lesson from Art:  identify what you need from others then make it clear how they can fill that need for you.

On Monday, I had a two-hour dental appointment scheduled.  Going to the dentist is not my favorite thing to do and listening to the drill or the scraping of tartar not my favorite past-time.

Maybe that was the reason that I chose to wear an orange plaid shirt, orange pants, and my lime green faux seude jacket to the dentist.  To use colors to brighten my day.  To not be afraid of what others would think of me. 

Sitting down on a bench in a car on the R train at 9:30 a.m., I saw a few people noticing my color combination.  And, as usual, I looked around to see theirs.  In a car when all the seats were taken and many passengers were standing, I saw only one other person who was not wearing a solid black or dark colored jacket or coat.

The other person was a woman wearing a dark blue or black jacket covered with bright colored flowers.  Lovely, I thought.  And looking closer, I saw a few bright colored sweaters, shirts, and other clothing underneath the ‘standard’ New York outer garmets.

Wearing black coats or clothes is standard for New Yorkers.  It’s a color that wears well (dirt and stains aren’t as obvious) and goes with almost anything.  Also, it’s the choice for the severe look popular in fashion, design, and other fields.

Growing up in Los Angeles, I remember that my mother didn’t want any of her four girls to wear black.  Since I was a size 18 when I just 12, I would go with my mom to Lane Bryant or the large size women’s section of department stores to try to find clothes that fit.  About 98% of those clothes were black.

 My older sister Alice made many of my clothes on a then old pedal powered Singer sewing machine.  Ten years older than me, she chose to work her magic with bright colored cloth, never black.  There was one exception.  One year I was a witch for Halloween and my sister Alice designed and created a fantastic costume for me complete with a homemade hat.  That costume won a prize at a competition held at our local park.  Alice created many costumes for me and another sister; we always won ribbons at local events.

A few years ago at the urging of a close friend, I went to a color consultant and was told that I should never wear black.  He said that my color was a ”bright spring” and that I could wear shades of brown but not black.  Going through my closet, I purged a lot of the dark clothes that I thought would slim me and help me fit in.  I kept one black 2-piece top and skirt for evening or special occasions.  One occasion was Alice’s funeral in 2003, when, over my mourning clothes, I wore a yellow jacket.

Writing this a few days after what turned out to be a pretty painless trip to the dentist, I realize that the colors on the subway car on Monday struck a memory chord.  The memories of the many homemade prize-winning Halloween costumes Alice created.  Memories of the choices my mother and sister made for me as a child.  Memories of the encouragement to not be like all the other girls but to be fearless about standing out by wearing a bright color combination, a combination I’ll wear as a leader in professinal groups, educator in front of audiences, coach who sits across a desk from her clients, passenger on a subway car.

Happy Halloween!  Hope your day is a bright one.  Now, I have to go and decide what I want to wear today.

Although I didn’t blog this summer, I did write, finish, and submit a short piece to The New York Times.   When Michael  Pollack from the newspaper called to tell me it was going to published, I was shocked!  And very pleased!

One of my goals for years has been to be published in the Times.  And I achieved that goal by sharing a personal story that always put a smile on the face of the listener.

My work appeared on Monday, July 6, in the “Metropolitan Diary” which is made up of entries of quirky vignettes of scenes and experiences in New York City.

The published version appears below.  Let me know if reading it puts a smile on your face!  And what’s one of the goals you want to achieve.

Dear Diary:

In March 2007,  I moved out of my apartment to make room for a total renovation.  I gave my $139 television away knowing that I could replace it later with one that fit my new decor.  When I moved back to my “new” gorgeous home in August, I found that I wasn’t in a hurry to get a TV.  In fact, I still don’t have at TV.  However, I did watch a TV program in my home.

One day last September I was working in my study, turned on the radio and listened to the start of the ceremonies celebrating the former Yankees who played in what would soon be the former stadium.  I looked up and noticed that my neighbor, about 25 feet away in another tower of my building, had his large flat-screen TV turned on to the program.

Pulling out my sofa and angling it a little, I got a good view of his screen through two sets of clean-enough windows.  I sat back with a beverage and enjoyed the program almost as if the TV screen were in my living room.  The sound was not in sync, but I easily adjusted.

There was one slight problem.  When the ceremonies ended and the Yankees game began, Iwas still listening to the radio.  However, a movie came on the TV.  “Change the channel,” I wanted to yell over.  I refrained.

Thanks to a gift from a grateful coaching client, I attended Pete Seeger’s 90th Birthday Party at Madison Square Garden here in Manhattan on Sunday, May 3.  Officially called The Clearwater Concert, a Benefit for www.clearwater.org, it was a four-and-a-half hour celebration of the life of a leader not just in the field of folk music but in so many other areas, including the environment.  

A fierce liberal, Seeger’s dedication to his causes and to making the world a little better was celebrated in a moving tribute by over 40 musicians.

On Monday evening during the “Employee Development and Training Class” I teach at the Zicklin School of Business at Baruch College, the nation’s most diverse campus, I did a survey of my students by asking a few questions about the performers who showed up to join in the birthday celebration.

“How many of you have heard of Pete Seeger?”  No hands went up.

“How many of you have heard of Joan Baez?”  No hands went up.

“How many of you have heard of Richie Havens?”  No hands went up.

“How many of you have heard of Bruce Springsteen?”  No one needed to raise their hand; they let me know with their facial expressions, “Who do you think we are?”

What was very clear from this survey was the cultural gap that existed.  It was also a perfect example of what can happen in a training class or the workplace.  We have of our own individual preferences for music, art, theatre, entertainment in general.  The lesson for the class of seniors majoring in Human Resources was clear:  don’t assume shared knowledge of students who attend a training class.

On Wednesday evening, I showed a You Tubeclip of Seeger performing with Springsteen at President Barack Obama’s Inaugural Concert in front of the Lincoln Memorial.  “Oh, yes.  I know who he is now,” said one student and others agreed.  Another student said with a big smile on her face, “I saw the article in the newspaper about the concert.”

I wasn’t promoting Seeger or Clearwater’s efforts to clean up the Hudson River, although that’s a great idea which I support.  What I was doing as an educator was opening opportunities to bridge the gaps between our worlds.  It was also, I realized, a process, to share names of performers who were instrumental in developing my appreciation for their work.

In addition, it was the unstated wish that when my students’ music idols are 90, they who have aged along with their idols, can remember the moments when a song (“Where Have All The Flowers Gone?” written by Seeger and Joe Hickerson and sung by Peter, Paul, and Mary on a stage in San Francisco when I was in college), or a performer (Joan Baez coming out on stage at the Greek Theatre on the University of Berkeley campus when I was on a date with a handsome guy) impacted their lives.

A birthday party is a celebration.  A celebration of a life and a celebration of all the memories that have gone into creating that life.  And the chance to reflect on the memories that make up your own life.

Happy Birthday, Pete!

Here’s a sad statistic:  50% of youth under the age of 21 in an urban inner city were found to experience the sudden unexpected death of a close relative or friend. 

Last Friday, April 3, Robin Goodman, Ph.D., was the guest speaker at the Women’s Issues Committee of the New York City Chapter of the Employee Assistance Professionals Association.  When Lynda Johnson, my Co-Chair of the Committee, first heard about the work Robin does at A Caring Hand last fall, she was intent on getting Robin on our schedule of presenters.  Glad that we did.  But also sad that there is such a need for these services.  The statistic above combined with the latest news about parents shooting their children or a brother beheading his sister are troubling. 

Robin is the Director of A Caring Hand, The Billy Esposito Foundation Bereavement Center.  She speaks to a wide range of audiences on the services that can help children and their families through their grief journeys.  Parents often don’t know what to tell their children after a husband, sister, or other loved one dies.

During her presentation, Robin shared with us valuable information about how children understand death and their reactions to grief.  She also shared ways to create a framework to foster positive emotional health that can last a lifetime. 

Often, a child is not able to talk about their grief.  Robin led those in attendance through a short guided visualization then invited us to use crayons, colored pencils, or water colors to draw who or what we saw.

This was a very powerful experience for me; one that brought back memories of a brother who died when I was just five-years-old.  After he died, I would ask my mother, “Where’s Johnny?”  She would tell me that he was, ”with Jesus,” or “up in Mary’s room behind the clock.”  Robin stressed the need to be direct with children and explain the loss in terms that children can understand.

A Caring Hand offers a “Child and Family Bereavement Group” free of charge.

For further information, call A Caring Hand at 212-229-2273 or email RobinGoodman@acaringhand.org

“Blood Type:  RAGU is a hilarious and poignant exploration of the Sicilian immigrant experience based on the life of writer and performer Frank Ingrasciotta.  This one-man show features more than 20 characters, who live, love, and laugh as they struggle to thrive in a new culture, while nurturing the traditions of the old.  It’s not drama…it’s just family!”

That’s the what you’ll read on postcard announcing the run of the show at The Actor’s Playhouse, an off-Broadway theatre here in New York City.  And you could possibly have read a review of the work, “Mapping a Family’s Domestic Battleground” (New York Times, March 9, 2009).

It’s the perseverance of the performer Frank Ingrasciotta that I want to write about here.  Why?  Perseverance is what we all need during the worst economy since the Great Depression.  Holding onto whatever dream, ambition, or goal you have requires faith in yourself, relentless work, and perseverance to realize the result you seek. 

Frank and I met in a performance class twelve years ago.  The performance piece he was working on was called “Blood Type:  Ragu.”  He kept on working on it because he knew that it was a good slice of life which others could identify with and understand.  He also kept working on it because it mattered a lot to him to bring his unique experience and artistic intellect to audiences.

Frank and I kept in touch after our class ended.  I saw him perform his work in a loft in SoHo, in a small theatre in NoHo, in an even smaller theatre in Bay Shore on Long Island, and to what could barely be called a theatre since there were only a few rows of folding chairs in a teeny space on 42nd Street.

I didn’t go to these performances alone.  I went with friends, different friends each time to expose them to the work of this dedicated actor, producer, and director.

Frank came to my one-woman show that I wrote, produced, and performed in 1999 at the 76th Street Theatre Lab.  That was the end of my “stage” career.  Frank kept on performing though, finding the right combination of laughter, humor, pathos, and hope to develop the show he wanted others to see.

If I remember correctly, a producer was in the audience at that teeny space on 42nd Street.  He liked the show.  Liked it enough to book a run at the Actor’s Playhouse.  Liked it enough to work with Frank to help made his performance perseverance pay off in acknowledging his great talent.

Although your performance may be in a corporate setting and not an off-Broadway stage, you can still learn the value from following-through on what is really important to your life.  Just think of “Blood Type: Ragu” and its journey to a large audience.

‘Tis the season to remember what was once the heart of the baseball world here in New York City. No, not the Yankees. The Brooklyn Dodgers. It was 50 years ago that the Bums left the area and moved to warmer climes. Specifically, my hometown of Los Angeles.

Listening to people who call in to WFAN, the sports talk radio show in NYC, I feel as if the move happened yesterday the caller’s pain sounds so raw. Reading stories like, “Exorcising the Dodgers: 50 years ago, the Dodgers left Ebbets Field for Los Angeles. Isn’t it time their ghosts left, too?” in New York Magazine is representative of the hold the team still has on the hearts and minds of the faithful.

I was close to making my first call to WFAN to say that, “Your loss was my gain.” I was a Dodgers fan at a young age. A Los Angeles Dodgers fan. My father made me and my sisters into loyal followers of the team. I’m glad for it. The team built relationships and started conversations within my family and also with neighbors in my changing neighborhood near Watts – conversations that happened before and continued after the riots of 1965.

Pop and Mom had five boys then produced four girls – of which I’m the youngest. The boys all played sports of one kind or another. The girls a little – but we made up for that by watching not just baseball in person plus football and basketball games on TV with Pop. It wasn’t just that Pop wanted to go to the games and needed company. That was part of it. It was also, though, part of our training in life to go with him. There was something about his observations of the players and the strategy of walking someone intentionally that has stuck with me. Watching my sister Lou fill-in the scorecard then doing it myself to record the statistics of achievement. Cheering when the bugle sounded whether the Dodgers were winning or losing; we did it because they were the home team.

There were times when it wasn’t fun. Like watching a one or no-hit game. Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale were great pitchers who could finesse a baseball to get it right where they wanted it. Watching got fun when Maury Wills tested the pitcher with a long lead from first base and then proceeded to slide into second, looking up to see if he could keep on going. Don, Maury, and Duke Snider were some of the players whose pictures hung on our bedroom wall. A closer look at our favorite players since our usual spot in Chavez Ravine was high up – the cheap seats – right behind home base. It hadn’t been any closer in the Coliseum where we first saw the Dodgers play.

As a leader, I’ve grown to appreciate the lessons I got from attending games with Pop, grateful that he didn’t write us off as just girls who wouldn’t be interested. There was another thing about sports that was important. It gave us a reason to go out and do something with Pop, to relate to him in new ways. Also, the girls used baseball as an excuse to travel. The four girls packed our Dodger blue sweaters and grey skirts then drove up to San Francisco to cheer our home team on in front of the other New York deserters – the Giants.

One of my nieces lives in Northern California and is a serious San Francisco 49ers football fan. In 2004, she said she wanted to come to New York to see her team play the New York Jets. Okay. The Jets won. That was fun. The next year, I went out to her stadium to watch the New York Giants beat the 49ers. Last December I volunteered my leadership services in New Orleans and that weekend the Saints were playing the 49ers. Yup! She was there with me – staying until the very last second of the game, risking missing her flight home even though her team couldn’t catch up. Next week, the 49ers are playing the Giants. My niece flies in on Saturday and leaves on Monday.

I’m looking forward to watching a game with her. It’s like watching a game with Pop. New Yorkers, thank you for parting with the Dodgers. Your loss was my gain. The gain of a gift that keeps on giving in new and delightful ways.