Love cannot be explained.
My daughter got married on Monday. The fact that these two soulmates, one from Massachusetts and one from Brazil, found each other in this disconnected world, and then overcame the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune to be and stay together, defies the laws of nature. The ceremony was at City Hall. When the clerk was done with his official duties, Eve and Cauê joined hands facing each other and literally jumped up and down for joy, weeping. Eve cried out, “Husband!” And Cauê cried out, “Wife!” As the witness, I was about five feet away holding the bouquet. Please don’t inquire about my condition while this occurred.
When we came out the doors of the courthouse, the rest of our family awaited, cheering and throwing rose petals. Also cheering: The three couples who had gotten married right before Eve and Cauê, who were all still milling around for one reason or another. We didn’t know them and will never see them again, but for a few minutes there, we were all kin. Again, my condition shall not be disclosed. |
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After the photo-taking, the wedding party headed to dinner. In honor of our family’s heritage, Sicilian wine was consumed. Quite a lot of it, I might add. We celebrated the newlyweds, but also the love of my sons and their magnificent wives. At one point, Roscoe, honoring Michelle with a toast, said that when things get cuckoo bananas with the kids, and they both feel like they’re about to explode or give up, they have a thing they do.
They look each other in the eye, say, “Same team,” and fist bump.
Once again, paramedics nearly had to be called.
Finally, I might note that this entire event included my first husband and his partner. They are my dear, dear friends, in some ways, even my best friends, in that I couldn’t live without them. That’s a big statement, I get it. Here’s what makes it even bigger. The truth is, we all had wounds from what came before, deep ones. We could and should be adversaries, I suppose, but instead we laugh and text and commiserate and hug and cry from joy, together. I will never fully understand how and why our broken parts healed so well, and made us stronger and better. I don’t know, actually, if I care.
Because love cannot be explained. |
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It was hard to think of a hate this precious week, but then I remembered that the world lost Jane Goodall.
I have come to believe that there must be a gene for the preternatural love of animals, the yearning-burning desire to protect them. I mean, I was three when I started begging my brother to throw back his fish, usually saying something like, “Please, please – she has a family.” And indeed, every time I meet another animal activist, I ask, “When did it show up for you?” and the answer is always something like, “As soon as I could talk.”
The whole world loved Jane Goodall for her fearlessness, wisdom, and brilliance. For her ability to gently remind us that animals are here with us, not for us. To me, she was all that, plus an idol, a role model, a saint.
Jane’s time had come. But I hate that her example won’t be there for my grandchildren. I will do my best to be a lowly stand-in, for in truth, none can touch the hem of her skirt.
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I am still receiving “feedback” about my op-ed in the Wall Street Journal last week. The editor of the Journal’s editorial pages told me mine was the most read article in the paper in the past month, so that certainly explains the volume of incoming, but it does not explain the…ire.
I wonder why people always feel impelled to kill the messenger? I mean, why is that? I did not make up the data that says only 2% of Gen Z holds the values that hiring managers are looking for. I merely reported it. My job is helping people discover their values so they can live more authentic lives. That’s why I created the Values Bridge, which 70,000 people have now taken, by the way. But please, do not @ me if you don’t like what it uncovers.
OK, go ahead, @ me. I am here to talk about this stuff forever and ever, as long as you do not want to punch me in the nose while you’re at it.
Instead, let’s surrender to love in all its illogical – and irrepressible – glory.
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Two Percent Is A Pretty Scary Number. Go Ahead, @ Me.
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Two percent. For job-seekers and hiring managers alike, that’s the number. The line in the sand. All you have to do is decide whether you want to be in it, or not. The consequences for your career, or your company, couldn’t be bigger. On this week’s podcast, I dive into the research behind that number, and respond to some of the most heated comments and explores what all this means for careers, companies, and the tough choices we face when values clash.
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