It's lonely at the top. Actually, it's lonely at the bottom, too, but, for purposes of this blog, let's stay on top. Even powerful, successful people occasionally experience feelings of isolation. They think no one cares about their welfare only what they can do or what they possess. When you find that you're spending more time with your virtual associates on Facebook/Linkedin/Myspace than real people, it's time to analyze your "click through rate" (CTR).

Online, CTR is the way to measure the success of your marketing efforts. It's derived by dividing the numer of users who click on a link in a web page by the number of times the webpage was viewed or "impressions." For example, if a website is viewed 1,000 times and a hundred people click on a link to download a related e-book, the CTR is 10/1000 or 1%.

As professionals, we are always marketing something: a service, a product, or ourselves. If you give a half-way decent seminar to fifty people, it's reasonable to expect at least one of them to approach you with a question or comment following the presentation. That's a CTR of 5/50 or 10%.

Now, let's extend that formula to our personal lives. What if we meet 20 people at a cocktail party/networking event and exchange business cards with all 20 of them? If no one emails or calls you later, your CTR is zilch, nada, squat diddly....So, that's no big deal. People are busy and you may not follow up either. Right? Yes, that's right sometimes. But if it's right all the time. You have a problem.

The problem is that the impression you give when people first view you is not compelling. They have no desire to use the "link" (i.e. your business card or website) and learn more about you. If no one at work ever invites you to lunch or happy hour, and no one at church ever invites you to brunch, and no one in your professional association ever expresses an interest in getting to know you better--face the facts Boo, you need a redesign. Your social capital is sadly devalued.

Hire a life coach if you like, but it's not that hard to make yourself more appealing. First, accept that we all have room for improvement. The top reasons people don't care if they ever see you again are: too loud, arrogant, and self-absorbed. If you're old enough to call yourself a grown-up, you know what's wrong with you. You've heard it over and over from angry relatives and concerned employers. Listen, it's okay to be less of you. It's okay to let someone finish their sentence even if you know the end of it already. It's okay to make eye contact with the admin instead of looking around for someone more important. It's okay to display concern about others' welfare. That doesn't make you weak; it makes you human.

Plain and simple, the people we want to be around are people who make us feel loved, needed, and necessary. If you really want to improve your CTR, be compassionate, listen with your heart, and learn to say "I'm sorry." Lastly, don't turn down any invitations from your new friends for one month. That's it. Now, go play!

Copyright 2009. Monica F. Anderson. All Rights Reserved.
www.drmOeanderson.com
www.thecougarcommandments.com

     I feel cheated.  A once in a lifetime opportunity has passed me by and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.  I'll spend the rest of my life in that lonely valley between Mt. "What if?" and Mt. "If only..."  

     You see, I could have been in the circus.

     Seriously, at one time, I met all of the job requirements.  I was physically fit and I loved traveling.  I've always enjoyed being around unusual people.  I liked being the center of attention.  And, best of all, I could do the splits; that marvelous feat of separating the legs and sinking to the floor until they extend at right angles to the body.

     I loved to do the splits.  I did splits on the playground during recess.  I did them in PE and at home while watching television.  I did them at parties to impress my friends.  Bigmouth Tyrone, the class clown, could put his entire fist in his mouth but it was generally agreed that my splits beat his wet fist, hands down.  I was good.

     Those days are long gone away.  The last time I did the splits it was totally unplanned.  I slipped on some ice on the sidewalk.  It took three people to get me up and I had to be carried to the car.  After that incident, I pretty much forgot about my special talent until a recent visit to the circus brought all those memories flooding back.

     I was sitting with my family in the huge auditorium trying to see around the hundreds of balloons and flashing swords blocking my view.  The eloquent ringmaster called our attention to the trapeze suspended from the rafters high above in the center of the room.  As we watched mesmerized, a lovely lady (who could have used another yard of fabric in her costume by the way) was quickly hoisted up from the ground to the small, dangerous swing.

     After watching her entire routine, I came to the conclusion that her primary talent was her ability to do the splits.  She did the splits and twirled in a spiral.  Then she did the splits while hanging from a leather strap by her very strong teeth.  The place went wild.  Finally, she did a chin up while, you guessed it, doing the splits.  she received a standing ovation from the adoring crowd.

     That could have been me, I thought.  Those guidance counselors back in high school  never told me anything about a career in the circus.  When I took the aptitude test, they told me I could work with nuclear waste, be a doctor, or excel as one of the fine people who pick up road kill.  Not once did they ever mention that I'd make a great trapeze artist.  Now, I'll never know.

     Actually, I did make an attempt to see if I still a had it in me like Michael Jordan trying his hand at baseball.  After we got home from the circus that night, I went and got on my neighbor's trampoline.  Luckily, they weren't home.  After a few successful bounces, higher and higher, I felt brave enough to try a somersault.  I thought that I was safe there in the middle of that big, black circle of fabric. 

     I wasn't.

     I don't think that I was unconscious very long.  There were just a few fire ants on my arms and legs when I came to.  I slowly tested each limb and they all responded properly.  I didn't notice the big bump on the back of my head until later.  I needed that to knock some sense into me.

     Walking home, I had just two thoughts.  First, I remembered that Michael Jordan wasn't a real awesome baseball player.  Beyond that, I merely hoped that no one saw me on that trampoline.

I don't know about you, but for the most part I think being an adult is highly overrated. Since the day they gave me the grown up version of my driver's license, I've been playing tug of war with sorrow. Sometimes I win and sometimes I fall. I understand I'm to rejoice always and joy comes in the morning, but the nights before the mornings can be long, long, long.

Recently, my pastor preached about Daniel waiting three-weeks for a prayer to be answered because evil angels fought against the good angel who had been sent to deliver the message. Michael, one of the chief princes, helped the good angel fight so he could get to Daniel. It was a great message and I'm sure Pastor had a good point, but I kept thinking, "It took three weeks and Michael to get to the prophet Daniel? He had supernatural vision. I need no-line bifocals to read street signs. Geez, I'ma be waiting a while."

Unfortunately, I am not known for my patience. I've gotten better with age, but I admit to being a work in progress. In my constant attempts for self-improvement, I have studied Eastern philosophy to glean ideas compatible with my existing beliefs. I do not believe the Western world has a monopoly on wisdom. Wherever knowledge exists, I will pursue it. Far greater minds than mine, like Martin Luther King, Jr., for example, have done the same thing. What I find most often is that east, west, north and south are not that different. Often, the same idea is expressed in a way that finally turns the light on in my head and I simply "get it."

My latest aha moment comes courtesy of Buddhist philosophy. They believe we must not run from pain and heartache. We must not try to avoid feeling pain by using drugs or blaming others. Every time we are spiritually injured, that damaged part of us dies. That's painful but it's also a good thing because, in time, we get to the part of us that is strong enough to survive anything. We discover the love that is indestructible.

Wow. I get that. I know my choices have effected the course of my life. I know we all have a cross to bear. But knowing something is not the same as understanding it. I know calculus. Well, I did back in the day. I just never understood it. I didn't see the point of it. Likewise, I know suffering and pain. I've had plenty of experience with it. Last month, I spent three days staring at the wall in my bedroom because I was overwhelmed by some extremely bad news. On the fourth day, I rose. I truly had no desire to get out of bed. Love lifted me.

 I got up, cleaned up, and ate a whole large cheese pizza by myself. I had to get up for my family, my community, and myself. I had to do what I've been placed here to do. If Jesus, the epitome of love, can rise from a grave, I can rise from a bed of self-pity. It's not easy to move on from a painful experience but thinking perhaps I'm leaving a little impatience, or bitterness, or lack of faith behind, makes it's easier to go on toward a more perfect and "indestructible" love.

Copyright 2008 Monica F. Anderson

www.drmoeanderson.com

It's getting harder and harder to get into heaven. The Ten Commandments and Great Commission don't ask that much of us. The police and Congress have way more rules governing behavior. I'm not implying it's not challenging to obey the laws of God and man. I'm just saying we should be able to get through an ordinary day without choking an annoying neighbor or parking illegally. Of course, I moved recently so I don't know my neighbors in the biblical sense and I don't work downtown where parking is at a premium. Nevertheless, as the daughter of a Babtist preacher and retired football coach, I have confessed my sins, excepted Jesus as my Savior, and stopped betting on the outcome of the Super Bowl. Good stuff, right? Well, apparently, not good enough.

Today, I got a text that read, "If you love Jesus and you're glad he woke you up today, forward this email to ten people and you will receive a blessing. Act in the next sixty seconds or something bad will happen to your family."

When did this happen? Was there an amendment to the Bible to bring it up to date? I thought it was timeless. I don't recall reading anything about forwarding text to prove my love for Jesus. Geez. Like I don't have enough to do and not do. Now, I gotta forward text and emails to get a blessing. If I don't act quickly, something might happen to my peeps. If I do send ten text, I'll lose ten friends and deplete my remaining text for the month. Since it's an electronic omen, will my peeps iPods malfunction or will their cell phones stop working? I'm busy. I don't have time to scroll through my contacts to find ten people who won't curse me with a plague for sending them this text. I know! I'll send it back to the person who sent it to me ten times.

Hopefully, they'll get mad and stop texting me. I'd consider that a blessing indeed. LOL.

P.S. If this blog made you laugh, forward it to ten friends in the next sixty seconds.

Copyright 2008 Monica F. Anderson
www.drmoeanderson.com

            Sistahs, I need a word with you. This won't take long.  I know you're busy making meals and paying bills, but please, listen. I really need to holla at you before it's too late. Yes, it is a matter of life and death. Brothers, you're welcome to read along. Despite what you've heard, we truly value the love and attention of strong, black men. However, my urgent message is primarily intended for the ladies who are sick and tired of being sick and tired.

A few years ago, I heard a man say something I'll never forget. He didn't realize I was behind him or I doubt he would have made the comment. He was smoking in the courtyard of a hotel during a conference we were attending when he told his friends, "The only thing I can think of as being worse than being a woman is being a BLACK woman." They all laughed until one of them spotted me over the man's shoulder. His eyes bucked and he turned traffic light red. The other men turned to see what he was looking at and they all appeared embarrassed. No one moved.

I stared at them for seconds that probably seemed like hours to them. In my mind I saw images of men who looked like them raping and beating my ancestors. And, I gotta be real, a part of me wanted to go off like a rocket at NASA. Seven years ago, it would have taken the National Guard and every member of the World Wrestling Federation to pull me off that man.

But seven years ago, I didn't realize that my value doesn't come from what someone else says.

Seven years ago, I was still trying to be everything for everybody. I was on the verge of a physical and mental collapse because I couldn't say the word "no" if the request came from a good person or a good cause. And I kept waiting for someone to show me some appreciation. I longed for the day my kids would kneel at my feet and tell me what a wonderful mother I am instead of asking for yet another thing. I hoped my service to the community would make people respect me. I thought all I needed was a little gratitude to make me happy.

That's not what I needed, girlfriends. I needed some rest. I needed to relax sometime. I needed to keep my doctor appointments, hair appointments, and commitments to go to the gym. My high blood pressure, weight gain, and panic attacks weren't being caused by gossiping tongues or incompetent colleagues. My problem was that I wrote every important thing on my calendar and my name wasn't on that calendar anywhere! I was neglecting myself. "Me" wasn't on my to-do list.

Sistahs, we set the emotional tone for the household. When we are tired, irritable, and sick, it effects everyone. Telling your teenager, "No, I can't iron your shirt before I go to work," is not selfish. Having a stroke that was brought on by pushing yourself too hard for too long is selfish. It takes a lot more courage to ask for help than it does to be a broke down shero.

I just sent my second strong, black male off to college. I'm a single mother and I want my kids to have every advantage in life. That meant teaching them that even a beautiful, strong, sistah like their mother needs support. They've seen me move mountains and they've seen me crumble like corn bread. I've taught them that life has ups and downs for everyone, not just sistahs. God does not discriminate. That's something that ignorant man didn't know, apparently.

So sistahs you see it doesn't matter what some strangers think about us. What matters is what we know about ourselves. Be good to yourself, too. You don't have to do it all. You just have to do your best.

Then rest.

Copyright 2008 Monica F. Anderson

Previously published in Beautiful Black Magazine

www.drmoeanderson.com

I was at the mall the day after Thanksgiving and I had a thought or two or three....y'all.