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I will find someone. 

You will find someone.

Maybe it won’t be each other.

Somehow , some way 

our mutual interest in each other 

didn’t align in time 

for our common spark 

to ignite a greater thing.

A greater passion.

A greater, deeper, Enriching, 

soul fulfilling, life-long Fire that would 

Have us excel together.

Crazy right? 

Four years of a mutual 

Curiosity.

Yet the whole time,

You would look at me when i wasn’t looking, that[‘s what my friends say

There was an energy,

That everyone felt between you and me

so where did it go?

Because four years can’t turn into nothing.

Life can change in the blink of an eye. Accidents, health scares, or other unpredictable and unimaginable incidents can occur. I’ve learned that this is simply the way of life. We experience a multitude of unexpected things throughout our lives.

Childhood trauma, assault, natural disasters, injuries, diagnoses for yourself or a loved one, loss, the list goes on and on. One day you’re following your normal routine and then, as quick as lightning, something changes.

I had a hysterectomy in February of this year. I had become anemic from the amount of blood loss during each menstrual cycle. I spoke to my OB-GYN and we discovered fibroids. Surprise! We decided the best course of action would be a hysterectomy.

It went well. I followed all the rules and was pretty much healed. My doctor said everything looked good and I wouldn’t have to revisit her office for another year.

Two weeks later, I woke up with pain in my right shoulder and back. I thought I must have pulled something. It wasn’t intense pain so I just pushed through, assuming it would heal on it’s own.

The following evening, the pain worsened and I ended up in the emergency room. Several tests were administered and my husband and I learned that I had a pulmonary embolism.

Hearing those words shook me. I thought maybe I was confused, after all, they had given me pain medication. When the diagnosis was repeated, my heart seemed to dip into my stomach.

In that moment, my life changed.

I spent the next 24 hours feeling as if my stomach was a bowl full of fish racing around in circles. The shock eventually fell away and I adapted. I researched and bombarded my doctor with questions.

I now wear a bracelet that could potentially save my life should I find myself experiencing yet another one of life’s unexpected incidents.

Life can change before you even have a chance to realize what happened. You’re happily walking down the sidewalk, coffee in hand, and suddenly find yourself face down in a puddle, your coffee spilling into the grass. You find that your knee is scraped, your glasses are broken, and your clothes are now ruined.

Do you just lay there and give up? No. You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and you keep moving.

You adapt.

Adapting is a great survival tool. It’s one I’ve used again and again. We all have!

And life goes on!

Women are multitasking in all areas. We all know that women have a very special talent for juggling it all - work, family, society, and (sporadically) self. However, launching a home-based business is not as easy as many pretend it to be.

Women entrepreneurs invented the home-based business many generations ago. Talented women turned their passionate hobbies into small business endeavors and never considered leaving the home to do it. Yet, it wasn't until the late 1980s, as the recession grew and men lost their jobs in record numbers and launched consulting practices, that home-based businesses were given credibility.

Today, home-based businesses are the fastest-growing small business in the country. 67% of woman-owned businesses start as home-based businesses.

1. When you dress for success, you'll gain success.

Yes, you don't have to dress daily as the professional businesswoman you are, but if you try and do your work dressed for a slumber party or workout session, your business will take on the energy of your mood. Look in the mirror. When you see a successful professional woman looking back at you, you are ready to work.

2. Don't juggle household duties while on the phone.

Do you really believe that the person on the other end of the phone can't hear how distracted you are when you spend time unloading the dishwasher or dryer, folding clothes, or even getting caught up on your email?

Be honest with yourself. If you don't have time to devote to a home-based business, don't set one up just because you believe it is convenient.

Working for yourself is not about what is convenient - it is all about having control. When you are in control of your time, you must give up the juggling and replace it with walking a tightrope. Focus, focus, focus, and you won't fall.

3. Define your business space.

Just because you are setting up shop at home does not mean you don't need adequate space for business equipment and supplies. This is specifically true for creative artists and home-based voiceover studios.

And, MOST IMPORTANT, A DOOR to keep out uninvited (unnecessary to the business) visitors. In other words, no crying babies or barking dogs in the background. No children ask for help with their homework or permission to watch TV. Your workspace at home needs to be off-limits!

4. Focus on Personal you.

Are you operating your business, or is your professional life operating you?

Just because you are busy running to see clients, running to network for more business, and running around to meet the needs of your employees, doesn't mean you are running a healthy business.

The health of a business depends as much on the health (physical, mental, and spiritual) of the entrepreneur as it does on the business practices of the organization.

To prove this point, I ask you to think of the most successful moments in your life and business. Very often, these moments cross paths. In my experience, the businesswoman that understands she needs as much care and nurturing as her business, clients, and employees are the woman others are attracted.

People and that means customers, are drawn to happy people who have a healthy outlook on life. Some call it positive thinking. I call it a healthy balance of inner strength and awareness - knowledge of your true limits.

Stress continues to be the greatest health issue all Americans must address. If your business causes you too much stress, you don't get enough sleep, and you eat your way to feel fulfilled, you can't succeed in business.

5. Take 30 minutes every day before work to exercise.

Walk, run, bike, swim, do yoga, dance to music. Move your body.

I like to run every day before I start my work day. I do my best to think and solve any problems that may be on my mind. If you don't feel like running, just walk around. It isn't what you do for exercise. It is getting your body moving that count.

Try it and see how it changes the way you approach your business day. The world always seems like a better place after 30 minutes of exercise.

6. Eat to live rather than live to eat.

What you put in your body to nourish it is more important than anything else you can do for your health and well-being. Breakfast is an absolute must. When your body is healthy - your behavior will follow.

Start with fresh fruit, whole grain cereals, and an egg, and make sure to quench your thirst with live-sustaining water. Water is the only thing we cannot live without -- so why not start your day off right.

It's time to take some action.

Running a small business requires making decisions continuously and every decision results in outcomes that affect the bottom line in one way or another. Making healthy choices for yourself will guarantee that whatever decisions you make regarding the business, you will be strong enough to keep running for that next meeting, next customer, and next big payday.

The most difficult part of operating a home-based business for women entrepreneurs is NOT spending more time at work than you would if you had to commute. Just because you can be at work within a minute doesn't mean you should go to work anytime the thought occurs to you.

Starting and growing a small business is difficult enough, so put these six tips to work and share your entrepreneurial genius with the world as a successful home-based business.

We live in a world full of different opinions, styles, beliefs, and ideas. Why then, do some seem shocked when their children voice different opinions or ideas?

It is our job to cultivate and encourage independence and individuality in our children. We should embrace their differences as they become their true selves.

Here are 5 goals parents should use to encourage individuality in their children.

1. we must remember that children are not clones of ourselves. They are their own, separate people. They should be allowed to form their own opinions, even if you disagree with their opinions. Their interests, ideas, and beliefs should be nourished. If your daughter wants to wear sneakers to the prom instead of the fancy shoes you picked out for her, it’s okay. Let her wear the sneakers. Let her be herself. Don’t squelch that individuality.

2. As parents, it is our job to teach our children, to direct them and help them learn how to exist in this crazy world. We must remember to teach and correct them in a positive and loving way. The key factor here is to avoid criticism. Criticism can be considered toxic and could lead to resentment.

3. We’ve all overheard the mother in the dressing room or salon pointing out her child’s flaws. Adolescents have acne. Guess what? They know they have acne. You don’t need to point it out to them. Their weight, their hair, their clothes, on and on. Let them be themselves. If you feel something needs attention, find a way to calmly and lovingly approach the subject without any criticism. The quickest way to tear down a child is to criticize them, especially in a public setting.

4. Boundaries! Most neighborhoods have fenced in backyards. These are boundaries. They say, “Hey! This is my area and that is your area!” Boundaries are important in relationships as well, especially between children and parents. There should be privacy and respect not only from the child but also from the parent. The title of mother or father doesn’t automatically give you a master key into every aspect of your child’s life. Respect that! Your relationship will be healthier.

5. Always encourage your children. You don’t really understand their love of folk music, but it makes them happy. Encourage them to listen to it. You don’t understand their fashion choices, but you want them to be themselves. Encourage that individual spark. I’m not saying we encourage violence or anything negative. Simply encouraging your child to pursue interests and individual style will mean more to them that you know.

These are the goals I have set for myself in my own parenting journey. These are the goals I’ve learned from countless women, trial and error, and my own childhood.

These could be applied to other relationships as well.

It works!

 

Cracked

 

The seeker, never sought. 

Alone, iced, distant, 

even when she tries to 

warm herself by the fire 

of trying.

 

A lone wolf but only

as a last resort. 

The chant echoes in

her wired brain.

“Weird. Obscure. Fake niceties.

You are not welcome, not really.”

 

Tolerated for show. 

Smiles but porcelain.

A sigh of relief

when she is gone.

 

She asks herself

“Why me?” 

Not in a piteous way

but in a way that stirs curiosity

and, in truth, self-doubt.

 

When she stops,

the masks crack,

revealing the hideous decay

she was terrified was always there.

Life is all about choices. Isn’t that horrible and wonderful and terrifying and exciting? 

 

I hate choosing, whether it’s a restaurant to have dinner at or a job that I’ll have for the next five years. I just can’t stand to think about everything I won’t have by choosing this one thing. I blame it on being a Sagitarrius, but I think it’s also just human nature. 

 

Don’t we all think about what might have been? What would have happened if you’d gone to a different college, or moved somewhere else after graduation, or said ‘yes’ to that date with that one guy that one time?

 

I’m thinking a lot about choices lately because I have way too many of them, which should be a good thing, right? There are some people who have no choice on where they live, what they do, who they live with. I’m glad I have the ability to choose, but when it comes time to make that decision? Ugh. God. Terrible. 

 

The thing that sucks about not being able to make any choices is that, in the end, the choice gets made for you. I go back and forth on where I should move next, but while I dither and hem and haw, the roots of my life here just burrow down deeper. I shrug off career changes and potential jobs that don’t exactly align with what I think I could do, and in the meantime, I continue working a job I don't love, just because I know I’ll get paid for it. And just like that, another choice made for me. 

 

I know it’s not profound to say, and many others have said it before I ever sat down at my computer to write this, but the life you have is never the end goal of *gestures vaguely* all this. You’re never going to make One Perfect Choice that will make everything else fall in line. You choose, again and again and again, and you’re never done. 

 

Some people probably find that idea exhilarating. “My choices never run out? I’ll always have the chance to change something? Right on!” But for people like me, who stare down the barrel of life and can only see all the times you’ll end up choosing wrong in the future, it’s sort of hell. 

 

Part of my problem is that I’ve made a lot of wrong choices, which is what has put me in my current less-than-ideal situation. And, when you have a proven track record of screwing up your life, it makes it harder and harder to trust that this jump you’re thinking about taking isn't just one more mistake. 

 

Another component to my current conundrum is my inability to see the forest for the trees. Or maybe the trees for the forest. Everything feels permanent to me. If I go somewhere, if I do something, that’s it. It’s over. That’s the only job I’ll ever have, the only place I’ll ever live, the only people I’ll ever know. That’s why choices feel so weighty to me. If I choose wrong, it's like I’ll never be able to undo it. 

 

I don’t know how to fix any of this, or get myself to start facing choices with a smile instead of a grimace, but I try to look at it this way: You will choose. You will choose wrong so many times, it will knock your socks off. There will be times when you’ll think, “I thought I messed up before, but this — this is it. This is the end.” 

 

But you’ll also choose right. You’ll pick a road to go down and change everything for the better. You’ll make a decision that will make you happy for the rest of your life. There will be times when you’ll think, “I thought I was happy before, but this — this is it. This is what I was looking for.”

 

Accept that you’ll be wrong. Accept that you’ll be right. Make the choice, then make it again when it blows up in your face. Choosing is terrifying. It’s also kind of fun (or at least that’s what they tell me). So, pick something. Pick anything. Just make sure you pick. 

I remember I started drawing myself when I was around 18 or 19. It started with sketches of my face, which was a big deal for me because as a young girl I had disliked many things about my face; I thought my nose was too straight, my eyebrows were too dark and thick, my dark hair was constantly messy and I felt my mole next to my mouth was too big. Being of Mexican descent, growing up I did not really see myself reflected in the images of women that were promoted in American beauty and fashion.

But something inside me lead to me start drawing my portraits, and it was actually one of the most courageous things I could've done in my self-love journey. It was also one of the most challenging since I had to switch from self-judgement to being an observer. And being an observer of myself was hard in the beginning. But I kept at it no matter how strange I felt, and somehow it became easier. 

After feeling comfortable with my face, I then began drawing my body. And that was another challenge! Again, I was "re-training" my mind to let go of judgement and be more objective by observing my body, as opposed to overwhelming myself with self-criticism. It was an intimate process. It forced me to look at myself in the mirror, all of me, every part I felt was “undesirable” or “ugly.” I took pictures of myself and explored expressing myself through posing for my own sketches and artworks. It was scary at first. I felt weird. Many times I thought “who am I to be doing this?”      

But a very big part of me felt free and loved because, interestingly, through drawing my body I actually felt I was giving quality time to myself! 

Supporting a family of 6 in a small rural town in Mexico can make anyone crazy. Especially when Mexico fails in assisting those in need. With American propaganda, my grandparents decided to immigrate to the US with their kids for a "better life."

A better life eventually went sour as my grandparents are now 80 years old. However, due to the racism, nationalism, classism and more, my grandparents never made it to a middle class life. Due to the inability to afford education in Mexico, my grandfather cannot read and write in Spanish or English. My grandfather was left to work in construction, the most physically taxing job. My grandmother only has a 3rd grade level of education from the Mexican government. She was left to work where they would have her. Some times in the carniceria, taking care of the elderly, babysitting, and more. Taking the bus at 6 am in the beating sun or pouring rain. So now that they have worked for more than 50 years in a country that doesn't appreciate them, they have no ability to retire.

Even when they could have retired, life always threw a hard ball at them. They helped out their kids during their adulthood. Even when they messed up. Even when my father was deported, they stepped in and helped my mom to raise my sister and me. Now that they gave their kids everything, we do help. However, poverty has been engrained in our tracks. We still rely on government assist us and rely on the community for food, energy and more. Now that we reach out to the people for help, no one can help the elderly. However everyone can afford that expensive channel purse.

How are we ever supposed to be better as a society if we let the community be used and abuse on an economic and social level? Hopefully, I get to raise enough money to help my grandfather retire. The link for his go fund me is -----    https://gofund.me/2363a3e6    ---.

I check my watch. Its time. The cold rain falls softly from the gray sky. I pull up the collar of my jacket to cover my ears. No thunder rumbling, no lightning zigzagging, no wind harassing. The rain simply falls in a quiet pattern.

I step out of my car and head towards the door, my boots sloshing through muddy puddles. I open the door and step inside, wiping my boots on the black rug. I pull my now damp jacket collar back down as the receptionist greets me.

Before I can tell her I’m meeting friends, I hear my name being shouted from an adjacent room. The receptionist and I both look in that direction. My friends sit around a round table, waving me over.

“I’m guessing that’s you?” The receptionist asks.

I nod with a smile.

“Enjoy your meal,” she says.

I head to the table where my friends all stand up to greet me, hugging me, shouting my name like I’m someone special.

To them, I am. These are my people, my friends.

The rain covers the windows in streams as we laugh and request endless amounts of chips and queso.

For a moment everything is perfect.

 

 

We walk around the bookstore, discussing cover art and book titles.

“Bathroom?”

“Bathroom!”

We head to the bathroom and she’s trying not to cough. We open the bathroom door and she says, “If I cough, I’m going to wet my pants.”

We enter side by side stalls and I hear her cough. We both erupt in a fit of laughter.

She is my soul sister.

We aren’t related by blood but had an instant connection when we met. A soul sister is too busy loving you to judge you. They only see the good and they love you dearly, flaws and all.

A soul sister is protective and celebrates each and every one of your accomplishments. They pick you up off the floor when life beats you down. They know you on such a deep level that you know they’re not going anywhere.

You’re completely and totally safe with them.

They can tell by your voice whether you’re happy or upset. They can decipher your mood just by reading emails or texts from you. They also have a super power that allows them to cheer you up immensely!

They're not family, but someone who chose you. Out of everyone else on the planet, they chose you.

You have inside jokes, which include laughing in bathroom stalls. You have heart to hearts and give each other advice. She’s always there. Always!

You have a friend for life; a sister!

Every woman deserves a soul sister!

 

 

Conversations and advice on self-care are everywhere right now, and yet somehow so many of us are struggling with burnout, stress, and anxiety. This might be an unpopular opinion, but maybe…just maybe….self care isn’t the answer.

The way we talk about self-care is falling far short of helpful. Most conversations around self-care leave people feeling like it’s one more thing they are not doing well enough, and if they could just do better at self-care, their problems would be solved. Not to mention that somewhere along the lines, the term self-care was adopted as a marketing technique; diet culture and the beauty industry are the only ones benefitting from that.

What I see in my therapy practice (and in myself, too) is that seeking out the next trend in or expert on self-care is actually a turn AWAY from our Self. It’s outsourcing the decision of what will make us feel good, which ultimately leaves us feeling worse.

So instead of Googling for self-care tips or beating yourself up for not getting around to doing that face mask that’s been in your drawer for months now, try turning inward instead. This can feel pretty foreign and a little daunting at first, so I always suggest starting pretty small:

• Schedule some touchpoints or check ins throughout the day. Maybe even put an alarm in your phone. When it goes off, no matter what you are doing, ask yourself how you are doing, and what you need right now. Even if you are in the middle of a meeting or cooking dinner or something, this can be a cue to unclench your jaw, soften your shoulders, or take a sip of water.
• Be intentional during moments of transition in your day. Anytime you move from one activity to another (beginning/end of your work day, naptime for the kids, getting dressed, etc), take a moment to ask yourself how you want to feel during this next activity or block of time.
• Pick one small thing that will feel great right now, and do the thing. Maybe you play your favorite song, slather on your best-smelling lotion, or stretch a muscle that feels tense. Notice how you feel while you do it.

You’ll notice that none of these things will change your life or fix your problems right away. Over time, though, these small connection points can create habits that support your ability to assess and meet your own needs on a regular basis. That, ultimately, can look like a life where you actually care for yourself in the things you are already doing, rather than a life where you fight to schedule in your “self-care”.

Hopefully, you’ll also notice that these suggestions cost virtually nothing in terms of money, time, or energy. So give them a shot…what is there to lose?

All those loudly whispered murmurs and rumors are true. I am absolutely the. worst. travel companion.

Ever.

At least that’s the metaphorical slap to the face you delivered as I sat on one of the two twin beds in our small London Heathrow hotel, watching as you screamed like a banshee at me with just one of the twin beds between us.

I feel the sting of it immediately. “You’re a terrible travel companion! Those other women are right! ” you say, your face flushed with anger. My face betrays me. Your mind registers the low blow, and you snort a half-hearted apology before continuing your tirade.

It was at this moment that our friendship officially died.

Although it had been limping along on life support with each passing day we spent in Europe.

It began with your snide remarks regarding the "proof of life" photo my brother jokingly requested via WhatsApp. And continued with the scoffs you made as I purchased an array of small touristy trinkets for my cousins at each of our cultural stops.

As if my purchase of Peppa Meets the Queen at Buckingham Palace or a tiny Van Gogh puzzle was some deep personal affront to you as a person.

Your jabs finally reach a breaking point inside a 185-square-foot British box of a hotel room, where you aggressively accuse me of being a raging bitch. All while hysterically gathering up your things and announcing that you'll get your own room.

I'm stuck feeling adrift and thinking the silence between us was definitely better than the current Real Housewives scene unfolding before me.

Frankly, had I known that I wasn't merely calling out the elephant in the room, but throwing a fucking grenade at it, I would have just stayed in the awkward, unpleasant silence that was growing like mold between us.

Of course, the trip wasn’t all terrible. Not entirely. It’s just that the ebbs quickly started to outweigh the flows.

At least for me.

I found London a wonderful adventure and was in love with Paris from the moment we arrived at our hotel, and I looked out at the Eiffel Tower. However, the receding transatlantic tide of this friendship had revealed a rift too deep for our shared love of mere wine, cheese, and travel to fill. Our invisible canyon-sized breach was no longer overflowing in a champagne sea of common interest. Instead, a thick, smoggy truth of profound differences consumes the space. Differences that, right now, feel so limitless that they seemed to engulf our entire train car as we returned to London. As our friendship, both quietly and dramatically, falls into the abyss. The tracks slowly hustled us toward separate yet parallel ways.

As you collect your makeup bag, purse, and other belongings, I see an opportunity to interject between your heated spouts.

My mouth opens to suggest we have an actual conversation and you are once again ranting about how you are “too emotional” to talk. The gloves come off, momentarily, as I call you an insanely judgmental bigot.

I stop myself, not wanting to mirror your hysterics that seem to be on a non-stop loop. Instead, I try admitting to several wrongdoings of my own, which have helped lead us to this spiraling display fit for the finale of any low-rent reality show that somehow managed to get a whole first season.

But copping to my own misdeeds only fueled your self-righteousness. And yet somehow, I manage to stay calm. Refusing to fire back with cheap shots of my own. Never do I begin shrieking my own distasteful tirade to match your Veruca Salt-esque tantrum that continues to unfold before me.

Wishing that you would grow tired of berating me, I know this frenzy of rage should be of no real surprise.

You spent the better part of the trip back from Paris seething in silence after disappearing for a solid 30 minutes to overact at being asked not to snatch at my belongings. It has been a week of you grabbing my drinks, my souvenirs, my outlet converter - my fucking hair - and it had all just become too much.

So, yes, I snapped and, in a harsh, blunt tone, advised you to ask before touching or taking my things. If this makes me an unreasonable bitch, I frankly don’t give a shit.

The fact is that I should have been a lot firmer when drawing a clear boundary regarding my personal space. Instead, I was left a little blindsided by the realization that Europe had left me to deal with almost an entirely different person. The friend I knew was gone. Replaced by a woman who found themselves completely incapable of not grasping at my belongings and, most importantly, touching me without my consent.

It might have only been my hair, but does that really matter? Men are being rightfully called out left and right for their disregard of consent, and you somehow think that you don’t need it.

Why? Because - as you snapped back - none of your other friends have ever required it. Who the fuck cares? I. do. And my boundaries should be respected. What I got was shamed outside Kensington Palace and forced to mediate an awkward situation in public.

Now I sit in the middle of a twin bed, as if afloat on driftwood, as you blame me for your current manic behavior and insist that we are both "too emotional” to have a simple conversation. I am dangerously drifting in the shrieking rough seas of your anger and can feel the hostility that radiates from your skin. And just like with the electromagnetic waves coming from a microwave, I know that I am standing too close.

Yet, I also don’t care.

Because the truth is, while I am not the raging bitch you are painting me out to be, as the vehement clamor of a spoiled, childish brat unfolds before me, I am a bitch.

A bitch that tossed a grenade – not at the elephant in the room – but at the whole. fucking. ship.

And even now as I sit trying to say something that will make you behave less like a child, I am not even a little sorry. I knew that this would never end with us having a discussion like rational adults.

But I did want it to end.

With each passing day abroad, I watched as your social skills seemed to diminish further and further. Until you were reduced to nothing more than one disdainful comment after another. Or as you call it “sarcasm.”

There is a calm, like the one you might find in the eye of the storm. As you stop yelling, zip up your suitcase and exit the room with your bags. I continue to sit on the bed silently. After a few minutes, I go to the door and check that it is locked. Once back to the comforting softness of my mattress, I lay down and pulled the covers up. Letting the anxiety and tension melt from my body, I breathed out a sigh of relief.

Comforted in the knowledge that I am not taking any extra baggage back with me from Europe.

I dreamed of a wedding.

I saw two people obsessed with each other.

The bride was smiling.

The groom was smiling.

And all the guests were smiling at the happy couple.

They are just so perfect for each other.

The rest of us peasants could only dream of

finding a love so pure and magical like they have.

I mean look at the way the groom gazes upon

his bride like a starving puppy begging for scraps.

She is so lucky to have a man salivate over her

the way that he does.

Now that is a power couple right there.

Oh wait. Neptune is in Pisces.

So things are a bit hazy at the moment.

And many of us are struggling to see clearly.

That's why no one has noticed the bride

screwing the bartender in the DJ booth for the past hour

or the groom sobbing on the floor and puking

all the rum shots he had this evening.

Seriously did no one think to question the lack of music

or why puddles of tears and vomit suddenly appear

on the floor every five minutes?

No? I'm not surprised.

It's much easier to put on a smile and pretend that

everyone is having a fantastic time.

Well

I sure hope that the suit and dress can be dry cleaned.

And if not

it's still a glorious day to celebrate true love.

Lord Mountbatten, Prince Philip’s uncle, once said, “At a certain age, one becomes an observer and is no longer a participant”. And saying it on the TV show, The Crown, counts. As a retiree from the federal government for the past decade, I can certainly understand what he meant. I don’t see myself as a participant in this pandemic. I lost no job. I have no children to home school or elderly parents to take care of.  On the contrary, my high schooler finished his three and a half years of independent home studies on March 10, 2020, right before the quarantine kicked in and the rest of the world would have joined him. This observation of mine is focused on the recent mass migration to a home office. The revival of the lockdown necessity to work at home was something I would have thought required no resuscitation. I thought that decades after the concept was born, we would have many people already doing it. I guessed wrong.

From my personal perch, I’d like to tell you about the inception of the concept in my government agency, some thirty years ago. At the end of the Bush One administration, they began making noise about “telework”, as we called it back then. The real interest, however, came when Bill Clinton took office. It was one of the ideas of his very fresh and family friendly administration. Regardless of your political bent, the fact remains that it was Al Gore and Hilary that pioneered the family friendly perks we take for granted today.   This “work at home” concept to this newly married woman with thoughts of starting a family, seemed the most amazing job changer yet. It was bold and brilliant. A co-worker of mine and I led the charge for it in our agency.   You can say, we literally dragged the powers that be kicking and screaming to this wondrous new way of working. I was a manager at the time and, although not eligible to work at home, I championed it and was given the task of implementing the rules for it.

We walked a tight rope between allaying management’s fear that all employees would do is sit around watching Oprah,and making sure we protected them from supervisors peering into their windows, like so many peeping toms. There were productivity issues and security measures of documents and data to deal with. Our area was responsible for the collection and processing of the duty and paperwork for all imported goods into the Port of Los Angeles. We just couldn’t have checks and papers being lost amongst the sofa cushions.   The primitive computers back then made it a daunting task. We could not allow anyone’s home computer to be used. We bought special laptops with Virtual Personal Networks (VPN) that could be dialed into from someone’s home phone landline. No WIFI, no presto and you’re in. Often it took a half hour just to get the VPN to cooperate.   Today, I understand VPNs are a pretty sexy, techy thing to have.

In 1995, I was detailed to our Washington Headquarters to work on a project that would last a year or so.  For this,  I actually did get to work at home two days a week. I believe today, they call it ‘hybrid’ work.   In 2001, while on maternity leave with my second child, my boss forced telework on me for two hours a day, so as not to have to hand off a special program I was working on. Technology advances, albeit very slow in the federal government, allowed them to load the network on my home computer this time. I imagine I did what countless moms have had to do these past pandemic months; hand off the baby and walk across the house to the makeshift home office.

In our agency, telework died an unnatural death around 2002 thanks to a new, unsupportive administration. In this case, the Bush apple did fall far from the tree.  That old boy network, said, O boy, we’re back in the saddle again! Fast forward to 2010. Obama’s administration wants to know what happened to telework. My boss, snickering, gives me the order to go find people to work at home. By now all the young mothers were gone. Our kids were teenagers and no way we wanted to stay home with them. The older folks in the office turned me down flat, as they weren’t about to spend all day at home with a cranky spouse or totally alone. Here we are a decade later, smack in the middle of a pandemic.   Those who were fortunate enough to have retained their jobs in this madness, packed up their offices and headed home to create a makeshift one.   And so, with an observer’s ironic eye, I view the resurrection of telework, courtesy of COVID-19. The question, though, is it here to stay this time?  With the Elon Musks of the world demanding the return of bodies to the building, who should remain at the dining room table turned desk?

From my humble perspective, the young and single should get back in there and flirt around the water cooler. They need this socialization at work time, especially to find a spouse.   The ones who should be left home alone are the families with young children. The benefit of packing your bags, moving out of say, Manhattan or downtown Los Angeles, and raising your children in better school districts and better air is a work perk that should be encouraged at all costs.  To the elders still on the job, I say, to each his/her own. Some may need some daily human companionship. Some, like me, who returned to the workforce briefly as a COVID contact tracer, wouldn’t have accepted a driving commute again without a court order.  The jury is still out on whether the newly named ‘remote’ workforce will take permanent hold for those who need it most, but then again, the folly of the human race usually moves forward at a backward pace.