Monday, January 26, 2009. 12:30pm. Oakland.
I walk into my sixth grade classroom for my afternoon lessons. My phone rings. It's my wife:
"Emergency C-section. Tonight. 6:30."
I find a sub, and rush to San Francisco to my wife's aunt's house, across from the park from where my twins will be born in a few hours.
I eat a turkey sandwich. I am calm.
In a nervous, excited, scared, happy kind of way.
We drive through Golden Gate Park to the hospital. I sign a bunch of papers. I wear a hospital gown and a shower cap. I almost shit my pants. I try to blame the turkey sandwich.
At 6:41pm my son is born. 6:42 my daughter.
I'm a father. I'm crying tears of joy. My kids are screaming tears of life.
Now they are eleven. I'm still happy.
We are more than our work. We all have intrinsic motivations. We all have a "why."
Each why is unique, personal, and important. Mine. Yours. Everyone's.
Are we working in spaces that allow us to share our "why"? That allow us to be vulnerable? To be our dynamic, beautiful selves?
Or do we feel the need to cover? Trapped behind a mask in a cage of professionalism.
When we share personal stories, we give others permission to share theirs. We build trust and connection.
We create inclusive workplace cultures where everyone feels like they belong.