It was June, 2000, when I walked in donning Old Navy boot-cut drawstring pants and a light-blue long-sleeve – Goodwill’s finest, my new balance, and my hair in a pony. With a knit bag draped diagonally over my shoulder in an allegedly nonchalant, yet hippie-inspired manner, I was woefully undressed and shamefully late for my first Working Women luncheon of my budding career as an advocate and activist for women and children’s rights, yet there were sesame noodles on my salad and Destiny’s Child on the intercom… yep, this was going to be a good day.
With more than fifty professional women focused on family-related issues encircling ten tightly-packed tables, one might imagine that getting acquainted would be not only easy, but unavoidable, yet there we sat awkwardly sipping our Arnold Palmers, waiting for some brave soul to make the first move. While a handful of extraverts had sparked conversations hither and thither across the room, those of us socialized to avoid confrontation or controlling situations continued to nibble our stale pumpernickel, and awaited further instructions. Thankfully, just as I was about to ask my my lunch companion her sign, the powers that be (at least in the Hyatt Conference Room 3A) took the podium, made a few opening remarks, and mercifully invited us to take part in the opening icebreaker – sharing our names, our businesses or organizations from which we hailed, and some precious yet non obvious fact about us.
“Important yet non-obvious fact?” I hurriedly queried myself, rustling through the files of the suburban regions of my soul (wasn’t about to share the workings of the inner city of self, but the values ensconced along the outer belt of psyche were legitimately up for grabs).
Go Fourth 