When Real Work Infiltrates My Dreams

Natalie Hahn O'Flaherty

DGC Principal

nho@dirtygirlsconsulting.com

I hate it when I dream about work.   And I’ve been dreaming about work a lot lately.

Usually, in dream-world I enjoy the free floating randomness of my mind.  Nothing is logical when I replay it in the bright light of morning, but in the dark of night the non-sequitor action sequences and the cast of characters that meander through are entertaining… freeing. 

When I start dreaming about work… well, to me that says that there’s too much being left undone in my day life.  Unproductive meetings of the day are replayed, but in Kubrick-esque circumstances.  Debates with coworkers take on Allen-type ridiculousness and unresolved arguments fester in absurdity.  The coffee machine only dispenses Bloody Marys.  I hate Bloody Marys.

These aren’t really nightmares, mind you, but they feel that way when I wake up.  Because it means I never left work. Even in those precious hours that I had total freedom to muster up any kind of insanity I wanted, my mind pulled me back to a day at the office.

And the result?  No rest.  I have not escaped the worries of the office, merely transformed them into a Burton-like world where I am haunted by both the reality and the irrationality.

Work dreams occur when I allow two things to happen: 

1. I don't resolve the issues I am dealing with in the office
2. I don't make the time to recharge myself in a healthy way 

So I know what I have to do to escape the work-laden overnight adventures.

Deal with work at work.

Sometimes this is easier said than done.  But the more I let unresolved conflicts chafe without pursuing a solution, the more my mind makes up stories to fill in gap, makes assumptions about other’s motivations, and creates multiple scenarios that bring me no closer to a true end game.  Whether it’s a disagreement with a coworker, meeting or missing a deadline or renegotiating an agreement, the longer it waits the more opportunity it has to wreak havoc with my mind.

Replenish, refuel, regain.

Whether I skip a run or skip the veggies, I feel it.  When I let work deplete my internal resources and don’t follow up with my own strategies for refilling them, then I’m not bringing my best self to the office.  Or home, for that matter.  You have to find ways to replenish your strength, refuel your passion and regain your perspective. There are countless articles on how important it is to take care of yourself so I won’t lecture here… but if you want the restless dreams to dissipate, this is a must.

I know I need to reset.  In last night’s dream, I set my coworker up on a date with a friend of mine, which in real life would be difficult since they live in different states and are, in reality, married to other people.  Another coworker was crying because she felt her boss didn’t value her work anymore.  She was sniveling over my laptop and I wanted to comfort her but I needed to drape baby wipes over the keys to prevent infection. I decided to hold my next team meeting at a crowded bar at 10pm at night.  Amid the shouting over the din and the multiple mai tais, we decided to introduce our next product with a Muppet theater extravanganza.  My boss transferred me to an office in Georgia – totally unrelated to the Muppet-themed product launch, of course.

See why I need to deal with things in my real world?  Because my dream world is not just chaos…it’s not even fun anymore.

Do you remember your dreams? Have you awoken from a dream feeling unsettled? Panicked? Restless?  Share in the comments how you balance your real world with your dream-world.

And don’t forget to share this post!

On Your Journey, What Does Home Mean?

Natalie Hahn O'Flaherty
DGC Principal

I just finished reading The Manchurian Tales by Nick Hahn.  Let’s get a couple of things out of the way right now: Yes, that’s my dad.  And no, this isn’t a book review.

My father’s own journey is loosely detailed in this book.  And I found myself crying as I read the last f  It is not a sentimentally written book.  Perhaps I can blame this week’s lunar eclipse for an emotional mood.  But... I will bare myself a little here… it’s the first linear view I have into my father’s childhood and the journey that has shaped who he is.  And it is a revelation. 

The stories woven in The Manchurian Tales are not ones you will find anywhere else – not in any history book, not in any novel.  It covers a small, unknown ethnic group through four generations directly impacted by global events.  This tight-knit group, known as Russian-Koreans or uhl mah zeh, break apart and cross paths repeatedly through the Japanese invasion of Manchuria, the rise of the Soviet Union, the Korean War and Vietnam, as families fled imprisonment and torture from Harbin to Seoul to Tokyo and eventually, San Francisco and Hawaii.  Their journeys were of soldiering, of hiding, of starving, of gambling, of building, of rebuilding and ultimately, of surviving.  The uhl mah zeh were forcibly moved from their homes and scattered, many remaining stateless, without a home, through the end of their lives.  What happens to your identity, your sense of self, when you have no home, no citizenship, and you are forever surrounded by foreigners?

My father did not write his book to be an inspirational tale of overcoming life’s most excruciating trials, although you can certainly take that away from it.  He is capturing a small piece of unknown history that dies when he does.  This book is less a series of tales and more a collection of letters written for my brother and me.  There is a part of my father’s life we simply have no affinity for. For anyone whose father is an immigrant, you know what I mean.  There is a life and a culture that exists before becoming American.  And for those of us who are the offspring of these immigrants, the only life they want us to know is the American one.

But as the child of an immigrant, I felt the pull to the more exotic culture, the family history that was always such a mystery to me.  I read all the books my father talked so much about, I took as many history classes as I could, I studied his native language and I reached out to my grandfather, who remained “stateless” in Japan and whom I had never met.  All an attempt to bring me closer to knowing my dad and feeling part of family history.  

Which makes it funny to me – now – that in the years I was studying Russian, I would come home to practice with my dad.  One night, as I was rehearsing a short speech I had to give in class the next day, I was struggling over a particular phrase.  After coaching me for about fifteen minutes, my father finally through his hands up in exasperation, “You speak Russian like an American!”

And all I could do was stare and say, “Um, yeah. Whose fault is that?”

Reading this book trumps all my efforts.  Because it includes a very personal piece of my father, however unintentionally.  I have a benefit over most readers – I can hear his voice, I know his phrasing, and having this in black in white, in detail, brings a closeness to him and my heritage that I have not felt before.

When I look at my own journey, how can I be anything but grateful?  My own path has been from the coast of California to Japan, Greece, Ecuador, Paraguay, Massachusetts, Indiana and Florida.  I am the privileged daughter of a Foreign Service officer with an Ivy League education.  Despite all the moves, I always had a home.  My identity was tied to my country - no matter where in the world I lived, I was (am) an American.  My sense of self was tied to my family and my family history.  And my home was where ever my parents and brother happened to live at the time.  The hardships on my journey include one very cold winter in Boston when Harvard refused to cancel any classes and a year of living off ramen and eggs when my husband and I first married as poor graduate students.  The hardship of being an Army wife in modern America (my husband has been deployed six of the past 12 years) is only as tough as interrupted Skype calls, dying cell phones, the kids’ school events competing with work meetings, and occasional bouts of loneliness.

I am not belittling my life.  I am in awe of it.  Because this life was only possible through the incredible journey traced by my father in The Manchurian Tales.  And by the sense of self, and the home, he provided through his own amazing journey.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  And thank you.

Obstacle #19 in the Glass Obstacle Course

Natalie Hahn O'Flaherty

DGC Principal

Who put that in my way?  Did I?

I sat at my desk a few weeks ago, waiting for a coworker.  We’ll call him Kevin.  Kevin and I have a standard weekly meeting, which we normally conduct by phone since we work several states apart. This particular week, he traveled to my local office and so when I ran into him in the hallway earlier in the day, he confirmed he’d come by my desk at our usual time. 

Our meeting time came and passed… and I was still at my desk, waiting. 

Five minutes before our meeting was scheduled to end, Kevin stops by.  The apology for missing our meeting was buried in a joke. There was no acknowledgement that despite ready access to email, text and IM, he did not take fifteen seconds to let me know he wasn’t going to make our scheduled time.

This is where the glass obstacle analogy comes in.  Today, a small action – or rather inaction – does not stop me from doing my work or from having positive work relationships.  But what if Kevin made this a habit? And what if others observe this behavior and figure they can easily blow off meetings with me as well?  After all, I try to be accommodating and flexible: we are all so busy and it seems like a little thing, but it sets a precedent for future behavior.  Behavior that becomes an obstacle to my ability to function as a leader.

What really bothered me about the situation was trying to figure out what made Kevin think that it was ok to skip the professional courtesy of a call in the first place.  I thought about a few of our male coworkers with whom I knew he also had meetings that day.  And I am pretty sure if he was running late or about to miss one of those meetings, they would have received some sort of message about it.  After all, this was a business meeting. Was there something in my behavior that indicated that I did not require equal treatment to my male peers? 

  

This also puts the power structure of our relationship in Kevin’s hands.  I’m not into power struggles with coworkers – too much work – but I’ve also got things to do. And if I’m always adjusting my work to Kevin’s pace, my stuff may not get done.  And certainly not on the schedule I am trying to meet.  So there’s a balance to be managed here, where we collaborate and are both getting what we need.

How do I get around this obstacle… a seemingly harmless act of disrespect… without damaging what has been, so far, a productive and positive working partnership?

I suspect if I put the question to Kevin directly, he would be surprised that I interpreted the missing communication as disrespectful.  That lack of awareness raises the question of how men generally treat women in the work place.  And how we respond in return. Is it easier to skip the professional niceties with me because as a woman, I’m not as likely to make a fuss?  Did I invite this behavior because I laugh at his jokes?  Do I sound like a harpy if I call him out on it?  There are already myriad studies that show how women struggle with being liked in the work place – and drawing a firm line is one way we get pegged as being strident or aggressive.  Or to use Sheryl Sandberg’s term… bossy.

Mrs. Roosevelt had it partly right: we do teach people how to treat us.  So it’s my job to tell Kevin, “Hey, my time is valuable and if you’re going to miss an appointment, you need to let me know.”  But she only had it partly right because some patterns of behavior were taught long before we came into the picture.  Men and women do treat each other differently, and I have long held the belief that what we perceive as sexism in the workplace is not just perpetuated by men, but by women too.  Some roles and behaviors are familiar to us, even though they may not be the best behaviors for success at work.

I still don't know if this particular glass obstacle is one I nudged into my path or one that has been there a while and I finally tripped over it.  I suppose it doesn't matter.  I just know it's there.  But now that I've bumped into it, I can scale it.

How many obstacles do you run into that seem innocuous?  We are so ready to excuse them.  But step back and examine the pattern… are they really so innocent?