Priorities

Just a few months ago, I underwent one of the most stressful experiences of my life:  defining my priorities. This isn't the day-to-day priorities. It isn't the laundry first, dishes later priorities. It was my life's priorities and how my choices were going to reflect, or impact, those priorities.

I'll be honest, for a long time my priorities went undefined. I could balance my life pretty well that this "checklist, honest to goodness, note card, life changing" definition of priorities hadn't been necessary. I knew family was important, I knew self fulfillment was important, I knew my job was important. But I didn't know how they ranked next to one another - and what that meant for my future. 

Those of you who know me know that I've been building a resume since the tender grade of 8. I went to a fair at Pine Middle School to look at classes coming down the pipeline for my first high school experience -and that's when I came across JROTC (Junior Reserve Officer Training Corp). And while a great motivator for ultimately selecting this program was that I hated PE, an even greater one was my resume. 

Four and a half years later I was presenting to an active duty General, me second in command for JROTC at my high school. I got asked the question, "Why did you do JROTC?" and my response was "Because it looks better on a resume than PE." Now, I received a lot of fulfillment from this program - public speaking, leadership, and confidence to name a few. But I have always been thinking of the future for myself professionally. 

And then life happened, and shit, was I in trouble. 

For those of you who don't know, Tay (my daughter) was a ... surprise. And thankfully, my life happened to work out again - primarily because I had this amazing support system through my family, my work, and my coworkers. So I avoided the "priorities" discussion because I maintained. 

Then I had the opportunity of a life time. I got called to interview at a large company in the bay area after they had seen me present. And Lindsey, the go-getter, the resume builder, couldn't turn down the experience to at least try for the position. 

I'll let you in on a secret - I kept secretly hoping that they wouldn't pick me. Seriously. I didn't want to face the discussion of priorities that would face me if I got the job. How cowardly is that? 

Because if you have been maintaining for a while, let me tell you, this discussion was the hardest six weeks of discussions. I sought out advice, I wrote, I asked my family, I thought. For once it seemed my priorities would come out in the open, that I couldn't maintain, because they would directly conflict one another. 

So here I am - professional, hard worker, go getter, A-game...mommy, wife, family member. And yes, these items can directly contradict each other. 

I thought I was balancing it well - because I was a professional. I spoke at conferences, I presented to clients. I made an impact. And I did it from home. I got to be there for Taylor - for my husband, for my family. I could take time off to help a sick friend. But this new job required a move, one that would take me outside of my sphere of influence and comfort. 

So I had to decide - would moving, including almost a 2 hour daily commute, a long work week, and family only on vacation and holidays, be enough to fulfill the priority of family? 

And would not choosing this new position leave me so unfulfilled that I would be depressed? I have known for a long time about myself that I am happy working, that I am fulfilled, that I am more at peace when I am accessing my professional side. So, by not choosing this position, was I leaving a portion of myself untapped? 

And then I was offered the job. Life. Decisions. 

I decided on family. 

No, it wasn't this easy discussion where I came to this after a good night's sleep and morning cup of coffee. It was six grueling weeks of defining what actually gave me happiness. 

And do you know what it was? 

It was the little things. 

Seriously. Not to be cliche - because I know that is the name of my blog. But it was the little things.  Every minute, every picture I see, every random time that I see Taylor with her Grandmas, grandpas, cousins, and father, I know I made the right decision. Every time I need an extra hand (which is a lot), any time I need support, I need care and love, I know I made the right decision. 

But I'm still a working mom - because I am still, at heart, a go getter, resume maker, professional kind of girl. And I want Taylor to know that she can access every portion of herself to find her sense of fulfillment. During those six weeks of discussions, I found that the main reason I received professional fulfillment was the ability to have an impact. I wanted to know that I was valued, that I was changing the work, that what I did mattered to those around me. 

At the end of my life, I won't want to be remembered for that last minute branding change. I don't know that I even need to be remembered. I just want to fill my life with as much of love as I possibly can so I can value the ride. 

A New Adventure

I'll be the first to admit it: I like to be comfortable. I like routine, I love knowing where I stand with people, and how I can contribute. I like the sporadic, but it's almost a planned sporadic. A "you know, we haven't done anything crazy lately, let's pencil that in" kind of sporadic.

I've been with Bernard Hodes Group for about three years now (I'm rounding a little...). And I can truly say that this experience has been the best in my professional career. Some of you might raise an eyebrow at that. I'm young, how much professional experience could I possibly have? Well, let me tell you mister - I've been working since the ripe age of 14, and up until Hodes, I had identified many things that I did not want to do.

And then I found Hodes. Or rather, it found me. And then I met Shannon and Lori, Chris and Jenna, Jim and David, Carlene...and so many others. I started at Hodes as a Social Media Analyst (whatever that is) and I began my first true professional step to my career.

Sob.

They say that parents raise their kids so they can spread their wings - and a true mentor, boss, and team is no different from a family. Shannon - I can truly say that you are the manager I hope to be in the future. The inspiring strong woman who leads in her industry, who inspired me to be more, reach higher, and achieve my aspirations.

Lori - my partner in crime, my pseudo mom, and continuous source of inspiration (and book share). Chris - my football fantasy contributor, real life talk time, and great distraction.

My team at Hodes gave me exposure to so many firsts. My first speech at a national conference (and second, and third, and fourth...)My first virtual team experience, my first webinar, my first published article... It taught me to be confident, that saying "no" is sometimes the right answer.

And so it is bittersweet that I now say goodbye. And I mean goodbye in the "answering crap tons of emails, going through a rocky acquisition, and amazing client work, day to day, and experience". But it is not goodbye to the friends and companions I've made along the way.

Cheers Hodes - you were a good one for me.

A Big Idea

Volunteers and Supporters

I wanted to write you a message, by starting with a very sincere thank you. Thank you for supporting me with this initiative. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, do it without you. Your contributions are what will make this program a success. Don’t ever undervalue your support.

At last night’s meeting, we talked a lot about potential roadblocks. And while this may seem disheartening, don’t be discouraged. All it means is that we have a lot of business minded, and very intelligent people here to help the program get past them. What we are doing, what we will do, will make an incredible difference in the lives of children and adolescents.

If I have learned anything in the past two weeks, it’s the power of an ask, the power of groups, and our community. We have many passionate friends and connections looking for an outlet to support our ideas and program. Even more so, it’s the power of the individual.

Because big ideas like this don’t start with big money or big people. They start with you. The people that have helped me in any capacity are what urge me to continue along this road. I’ve looked at several similar models of programs, talked to business and community leaders, and you know what I found out?

They all started exactly the same way.

They started with a small group of people who came together from completely different roads of life, and they made something big.

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I introduce P.A.V.E. - Preventing Adolescent Victimization through Education.

A few specific mentions for your continued support -

Joel - thank you for challenging, supporting, and believing in me.

Jenn - your contributions are already developing the program into something so much bigger

Jorie - your NAME! Your artistic background, and consistent support

Jen (the sister) - for giving up time in your amazingly busy schedule to support your little sister.

Chris - for inspiring me, for your background, and your ideas

Chris (the husband) - for believing in me, supporting me, and holding the home front while my dreams get started

Sierra - for coming to meet a strange group of people at the beck of a friend, and diving in with no fear

Jaryd - your engagement, your passion, your interest, and your unbounding energy

Nikki - for being a great presence in the group, and your enthusiasm for the topic

Darci - for your passion, humor, and dedication to a group when you already have so much on your plate

Maria - for your wonderful messages of support and encouragement

Eddie - for your wonderful background, passion for acting, and contributions during the meeting

Helen, Sarah, Jacque, Tammy, Kate, Caity, Ericka, James, Alisen, Tina, MJ, Stephani, Mary, Nikki (there's two), Heather, and Nicole - your promise of support and offerings of encourage and help.

And Mom - for the idea, for the inspiration, and the courage to make it happen.

A Fear of Uselessness

Nothing scares me more than an inability to change a situation, or contribute to the solution. It's that feeling when you see a loved one suffering from sickness, unhappiness, or just life in general - and phrases like "It'll be okay" and "It happened for a reason" fall flat on the floor. Compassion drives us to want to take on others' hurts and pains and internalize it because it's better than watching someone suffer.

Then come atrocities like yesterday's in Sparks (close to my hometown). A school shooting. And it's hard to feel anything but useless as we ask ourselves why.

There is a way to make a difference. There is something that we can do about it.

If you read my blog "A Powerful Secret" you have seen into the window of my life that was plagued by mental illness of a family member - and that was just the introduction.

While that series will be continued here, the point of it was that I was ashamed to talk about it. I was ashamed of myself, my situation, my feelings.

And I was alone.

Mental illness is a taboo in our society because we value strength - and we define strength by the ability to get through things alone.

On top of my shame, I felt like I couldn't tell anyone because I needed to prove that I was strong enough to do it alone.

Here's a secret: Strength is not gauged by your ability to internalize. Strength is humility. Strength is asking for help. Strength is community.

How do we make Mental Illness a front runner? How do we make it less of a taboo? How do we help those in need support before they break?

I've started. I've started because I'm sharing my story, my experience, my turmoil with mental illness. It's not a pretty story, but it's a start.

I'm done being useless. I don't know where to go, but I'm going somewhere.

I'm asking for help. I'm asking you, yes, you, to help me. I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm not a doctor. I'm not a counselor. But I am a facilitator. A passionate, driven, forceful facilitator.

I need doctors. I need counselors. I need community members who want to make something good from this tragedy. I need a plan. And it starts with you.

Lost in Translation

Whoa blog, whoa. I know it's been almost a week. Calm down. I'm just getting back into things.

Last week was a doozy. This week, I'm giving you a break. Which means that I've got my Pop Fitness mix playing on Pandora on instead of good ol' Damien Rice which brings the tears flowing through. And when I say Pop Fitness, what I really mean is Flashback Friday a day early.

If I was worried about you judging me, I wouldn't be doing this.

Sometimes life throws you stories- and maybe it's because I'm a writer, or maybe because I can appreciate the makings of a good story, that I cherish the moment with an eagerness that makes me giddy. I'm living in the moment, but I'm also fully intending on writing about it to capitalize the moment into "foreverdom".

We had just arrived at the train station in Rome, ready to depart to Munich for Oktoberfest. At this point in my life, I'd taken 8 years of "token" German. And boy, was I ready to make Munich listen. Kind of.

I had just looked up the word for Passport (Reisekarte), which was fated to luck, because, well, you'll see.

We boarded the train - the first serious train I had ever been on. We headed to our "first class" cabin which might fit a baby llama - but most certainly not two 6'0+ human beings. Our liaison(?) came through to give us some instructions. He looked just like the German version of Santa Clause.

He knew we weren't German. It was probably the inefficient way our travel bags were packed. Regardless, he gave us heavily accented English instructions for our safety. I gave him two metaphorical thumbs up for effort, but based on the glazed look my husband had, neither of us caught on.

Then I made a mistake. "Wie Bitte?" - For those of you needing translation, it's like a nice way of saying "WTF, Tell me in German". So he did.

And I was not prepared.

At the end of the five minutes of drool inspiring catastrophe, Chris turned to me and asked "What did he say?"

"I think we're getting our passports back".

Nevertheless, my first experience with a native German speaker did not deter my resolve. Then we arrived at our hotel. And this, ladies and gentlemen, this is where our story starts.

So. I unpack our belongings to get my mind in order. I'm hanging items, stowing items, fluffing them. Amidst my preparations, I stub my godforsaken toe on this metal door stopper (who does that?) that was shaped like a miniature bread slice with a vengeance.

While hopping around grabbing my flesh wound that has started to bleed a copious amount, I turned to my husband asking him to call down to house keeping. Because if you've ever had a foot wound, you understand.

"I need a Band-Aid. Will you call housekeeping?" (The capitalization is important people. Band-Aid is a Brand name, not a product name).

Chris dials, "Hello. We need a Band-Aid.....a bandage?....a Band Aid?....my wife is bleeding....she stubbed her toe?....oh okay. Great. Thanks"

Minutes go by and a knock comes on the door. I stumble to greet the housemaid and she hands me four boxes. I open the boxes, and instead of my blessed Band Aids, I find four boxes of Tampons. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Tampons.

Apparently, the phrase the grasped upon was not the one that I had hoped for. I "ran" to grab my dictionary as my face did my Irish heritage proud. I found the translation, ran to the phone and asked again:

"Haben Sie Pflaster?"

"OHHH! Pflaster!!!" (laughing in the background).

At least my German worked this time.

A Powerful Secret: Part 1

We've all experienced pain in our lives. And regardless of the experience, it's relative to those who experience it.

There's something to be done through the pain of experience. With experience comes maturity; empathy.

This series of posts will give you a look at my life; one that I don't share too often. But the point of writing, at least publicly, is to share your experience in the hopes that there might be another person, just one, that could benefit from knowing they aren't alone.

You aren't alone.

Why now, though? I'm not in school any longer, and I don't need validation; proof reading. This essay (broken into pieces) is the hardest thing in the world for me to share. I'm not even exaggerating. (Which, I am inclined to do from time to time).

I'm sharing it because I want to make a difference. Mental Health; Depression; PTSD. These are buzzwords - still attached to a stigma that shames. I want to be a part of the movement that changes that. And so I begin.

Dear Lindsey,

I’m writing this to you from the hospital, because I need to communicate with you, and this was the best way I could think of. I love you so much more than anything in the world. You are so extraordinary in every way. I thank God everyday for you…

***

Writing this has been difficult…, even now, the shame of who I was comes shining…no, not shining, leering forward, rising to the surface. I was never happy with myself back then. I hated what I did, what I thought, how I felt. I hate admitting to you who I was. I wish I was different. I wish I was telling you about how I matured, how I helped my mother through it, how strong and capable I was. But I would be lying to you.

***

Every family has its problems, its hidden scrapes and bruises. I didn’t know my family’s problem, I didn’t want to. Ignorance truly meant bliss for me, and to give her children ignorance my mother suffered a war that was fought beneath her skin. She was hurting, but she was a practiced performer, hiding her pain, masking her bruises, making the symptoms disappear. Maybe I didn’t understand because I was too young, maybe it was because my parents thought I wouldn’t have been able to handle it, maybe it’s because I was stubborn, confused, or just happy to have things the way that they were.

Maybe it’s because she was just too good at hiding it.

 But had I known about the battle lying beneath the surface, I would have begged my mother to release herself from the tyrannical oppression of her memories. Or at least, I hope that’s what I would have done.

***

…the only problem is that I wanted to believe I was okay, and that none of that mattered. It does though. It’s taken me forty-five years to admit that. I have some mental illness issues that will probably always be there. I do have depression. Panic anxiety disorder, and post traumatic stress disorder. My childhood was so horrendous that I don’t even know how to describe it. I can’t change that, or genetics as much as I would like to. I never thought I deserved a life because I feel like I failed as a child. I couldn’t change my mother’s schizophrenia, or my brother’s drug addiction. I thought maybe if I cleaned the house of all the mold and made meals for everyone, that all could change. Mom wouldn’t be schizophrenic, my brother wouldn’t be a cocaine addict – everyone would be happy. The truth is that as a child or even an adult, I can’t change my family, nor am I responsible for them. God made them who they are, and unfortunately, I am not a superhuman being…

***

309.81 Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, Diagnostic Features:

Criterion A1:  The essential features of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder is the development of characteristic symptoms following exposure to an extreme traumatic stressor involving direct personal experience of an event that involves actual or threatened death or serious injury, or other threat to one's physical integrity; or witnessing an event that involves death, injury, or a threat to another person; or learning about unexpected or violent death, serious harm, or threat of death or injury experienced by a family member or other close associate

Con-Promise

Compromise. I remember I used to have a ton of trouble reading this word when I was younger and always read it in my head as com-promise. Then it starts to read like Con-Promise.

Seriously - there's a thought here. Stick with me.

Conpromise: when people pretend like they are making a compromise to save face. When they are manipulating stipulations and then backstabbing constituents.

Hey there, political intrigue! I've gone there, and I'm not going back.

Yes, I'm a blogger, and as being such, I have decided to jump on today's topic trend and post about the Government shutdown.

I'm a little stunned, to say the least. And a little irritated by the posts in my feeds of people complaining. Because at the end of the day, I think it's our own lack of compromise that is causing us to meet at these dead ends (and then lack of follow through when we conpromise, instead of compromise).

Seriously. Here's a question for you, and I want you to consider it, truly. And even, if you so desire, prove my point by responding in the comments on this blog. How many times have you entered a heated argument/debate over a political issue, social service, etc, and ended up on the other side of the issue?

I'll be honest. Rarely. I consider myself to be a thorough person, an educated person. I've come to these decisions and beliefs through countless hours of internal discussion. And when I talk about them publicly, I don't enter into conversation to change my point of view.

The more that I think about it, the more that I realize that I'm part of the problem.

Parties are a distraction. An excuse. They are an easy way to become misguided by "ideals" rather than end points.

You know what I look for when I vote for a candidate? A history of compromise. Even if I don't agree with the compromises they made, it shows me promise, moderation.

Here's my beef guys: we can complain on Twitter all day about how lousy Congress is. And frankly, I don't disagree. But honestly, what is that doing? Do you think our Senators go home and cry themselves to sleep on their pillows over their low approval ratings? Hardly. They're still getting paid to manipulate the system.

Stop complaining and start changing.

Start asking yourself hard questions. Am I really as open minded as I think I am? And be honest. I know I'm not. We need to stop fooling ourselves. Because I have friends "on the other side" of the spectrum. And I know that they aren't stupid. They came to those conclusions for a reason.

Stop debating to push your beliefs; start debating to define your beliefs.

5 Steps to Better Social Networking

While I know everyone on your networks enjoys the good ol' selfie, I am here to tell you that there is more to social networking than your mirror shot, tilted head, and coiffed hair. But, I know you know that already. Or you don't, and seriously, thank goodness you're reading this.

A while back, I was in a bad situation - recently laid off from my first job out of college. I was devastated. People, myself mostly, had put high expectations on my success. Ya, ya, ya, I'm a Millennial. I did expect great things. I had (some) confidence, a degree, and an untapped network.

The thing about Social Networking is that we view it differently from our regular relationships, and that's where we have it wrong. Relationships require maintenance. And that's no different from your social presence. Your acquaintances and "friends" on Facebook are a connection that could lead to an opportunity, and if you aren't feeding your network, they will flounder.

The good news? Social Media is an introvert's paradise.

Social Media allows you to manage your relationships with little investment. Now, don't take this the wrong way. When I interact with you on my social properties, I genuinely mean it. But it's easier for me to network online because, believe it or not, I'm an introvert at heart. When I attend conferences, at the end of the day I'm sitting in my room staring at the wall in complete silence while I catch up with myself. I'm pissy, touchy, and unmanageable if I don't get my wall time.

Back to my bad situation. We moved to Portland for my husband's job and I was left blogging, and working part time at an event company. That's when something amazing happened. My social network moved  me. I got the job I have now because I managed my social network.

Before I get into tips, how about the why? When people tell me they get really picky about their LinkedIn connections, I get a little skeptical. How in the world do you know where you'll be 10 years from now? We all have plans, but as my story showed, it certainly didn't go the way I wanted it to.

Networking, social networking, is about planning for the unexpected. Here's how:

1) Be Genuine. Seriously. Don't "like" the picture of my daughter if you hate babies. Here's why: if you're fake in your actions, you'll build a network of people with different values. And that's only going to harm you in the long run. You won't have common conversation points, and people won't understand you. Be genuine. Interact with people who share your interests.

2) Small Interactions are Pivotal. People are compulsive, selfish, and lack confidence. And that's just the predictable parts. They want to know that someone is listening. (hint hint). Think that people don't notice when you like their status update? Wrong. They notice. And they care. Become a consistent presence in their life by commenting, liking, and sharing their content.

3) Do Favors. Chris Matthews (Hardball) had it right. What have you done for me lately? And the last thing you'll ever hear from me is to do them with an expectation. Do them because (hopefully) you're a genuine person and you enjoy doing them. The payback will come, just don't expect it to come the way you think it will.

4) Be Consistent: Don't disappear for months at a time. Don't assume that because things are going your way now, that they will always be that way and ignore your network. I'm not saying you have to post everyday. Because, trust me, I know I'm certainly not that interesting.

5) Make Common Sense More Common: Guys/People/Gals. This is the tip that I actually struggle with the most because it's really difficult to define. But I'm going to try. (because I said I'd give you five tips...) You'll hear people say to keep your social networks professional. I'm going to throw caution to the air and say be real instead. We idolize "professionals" because we think they have their shit together. But I'll tell you now, Employers don't hire professionals, they hire personalities that fit within their culture. And if your bad professional self is too cut and dry, that's the environment you're going to get, and it won't make you happy. Here's the difficult part: be real to a point. If you're a casual drinker, it's okay to put a picture of you having a beer with your friends up on your networks. But if you're an "overly" casual drinker - let's avoid the binge drinking pictures that end up with smeared permanent marker across our faces. Okay? Okay.

My Unfortunate Favorite Memory

We were living in Portland at the time, Taylor was approximately 6 months old. We were fully overwhelmed as parents, but taking it in stride. Oh yeah, and it was Mother's Day. My first Mother's Day.

Let me let you in on a little secret before I begin. As a parent, planning is everything but also nothing. You can work your ass off to ensure the little one gets a three hour nap - but maybe that day they decided to keep you on your toes and took three twenty minute naps (if you're lucky).

It's when the stars align that you really feel like you have your shit together. The problem is that the stars aligning is terribly misleading, and what was thought of as competence was actually luck. The saying "Luck counts, but don't count on luck" has become an ingrained motto since Taylor was born.

But back to the memory. We were sitting outside of Wetzel's Pretzels, salivating over the smell of freshly baked dough while deciding on what exactly we were supposed to do next. You see, it was coming on 4 pm. We could:
    a) Leave for home then (this mall was approximately 45 minutes away from our house) OR
    b) Eat dinner at the mall, knowing that we were coming into Tay's witching hour and risk it anyway

While we were deciding, Taylor decided to take it upon herself to be incredibly cute. You've all seen her pictures. It's a common occurrence. She started squealing.

And holy crap did we become the most obnoxious parents ever. Not only did we encourage the behavior, but we started making the sound back, much to the chagrin of every other person in the mall. We didn't care. We were playing with the cutest baby in the world.

Here's the kicker: this isn't my favorite part of my favorite memory. It's what happened at dinner.

What happened at dinner, you ask?

Nothing.

Nothing happened at dinner.

Chris and I got to eat our first meal together, while Taylor stared innocently at the wall, cooing, babbling, and being 100% content to do 100% nothing. We got to be a couple, instead of a family.

That's why I call this my unfortunate favorite memory. It's because we all experience these moments in time that we repeat in our heads saying, "I really want to remember this moment" - and months down the road, we don't. (It's one of the reasons I blog). I'm not sure that I would always want to admit that this was one of my favorite memories.
 
Instead we are left with nasty memories, random moments, and something that you didn't really think was that important.

But reflecting on this particular moment, I've come to realize that it meant much more than I thought it would. Because being a parent is about balance. It's balancing Lindsey as a mom, Lindsey as a wife, and Lindsey as Lindsey. And this memory, this dinner, shows me that it's all possible.

"I'm horrible at writing."

No, really. I love short sentences. I love putting little thoughts in parenthesis (because who doesn't want to hear my side notes?) I jump around from thought to thought. I expect (or hope) that my readers will follow what I'm saying (but if they take their own thing away, then I'm still satisfied). I love the power of threes. And I try to start at least five sentences with and in one post. Oh, and I love white space.






See what I mean?






Sometimes I think I missed my calling. I absolutely love what I do, but there is something that drives me to greater passion. And that is to disabuse the title of this blog.

I mean, you're still reading, aren't you? I can't be that awful, can I?

I can't tell you how many times I hear this in response to my declaration of authorship; English major; literary conquests. And I'll be honest - it literary breaks my heart. (see what I did there?)

I don't blame you. Our harshest critics are the voices in our heads. I am constantly arguing with mine, bouncing from over confidence, to "meh", to anguish. As dad says, "on my best days, I am 51% sure of myself". But I digress.

You are an amazing author. Do you want to know why? Because what makes a writer a good writer is shared experience, not perfection. We are communal creatures, and our greatest fears are simultaneously the fear of rejection and the fear of loneliness. We want to share our feelings because we want to know that we aren't alone in them.

But our fear of rejection prevents us from sharing experience.

A writer need not follow the rules. What a writer needs more than "writing" ability is courage.

Dad's Advice

"Bachelors degree from a top tiered college required" - Say what?

So it's come to this: The competition between quantifiable smarts to qualitative intelligence.

Those of us in "soft fields" know what I'm talking about. We've heard the snickers in response to our "English" admissions. And we've rolled our eyes over the question "What are you going to do with your major?" (I'll admit, it was because I literally had no idea when I first graduated, and it was a stalling technique). And now, not only are we judged by our degree, but by where we got it.

It's not a new development - just more pronounced. The Silicon Valley culture of start-ups has made it so. The influx of programmers, developers, and mathematicians have made it increasingly difficult for us "softies" to break into the world dominated by metrics.

I've experienced this scenario to some degree. I'm a marketer (though I shudder to admit it) with a Liberal Arts background. But my job title is that of an Analyst. How I got from reading Frankenstein (for the third time) to Excel sheets and endless rows of numbers and data, is a different story.

But here's the shocking statement people:

 "It's not F=MA that eats your shorts".

Let me explain.

Your CEO was not a straight A student. In fact, most likely, your CEO was the one sitting in the back of the room making connections and networking, with his soft skills.

And I'm here to tell you that these experiences, the networking, the people connections, the charismatic qualities that we develop (or not) are what make us most useful in a professional world.

It's no wonder we have a complex surrounding our value - if we are only as good as our pedigree.

But here's a message to my fellow Liberal Artists and "normal tier" college graduates - it's experience that defines you. And that happens everywhere- not just at prestigious institutions.