Amy Swift Crosby

Who’s taking up space? Are they paying rent, or squatting?

Forgive the self-focused angle this week — but it does the best job of explaining what you could easily apply to your own life if it resonates.

Sometimes (but not often enough) I have the forethought to take inventory of the “tenants” residing in my thoughts. These are threads of a conversation I might only be having with myself, that have become semi-permanent without my realizing it. Recognizing them is a contemplative exercise that requires some wherewithal and practice. Why? Because it requires a thought looking inside a thought, as they tend to camouflage themselves as “normal.” In reality, they’re depleting, diminishing and distracting. But I don’t tend to challenge them because I get slowly used to co-habitation.

I wouldn’t call them a belief system as much as a more contained grievance, regret or worry.

Having participated in my share of brand-related hospitality and real estate projects, I tend to think of it in exactly those terms.

A (good) real estate developer considers a property (like a mixed-use office campus or a retail lifestyle center) in a host of ways. The questions contemplated are often:

What is the optimal ecosystem? Will big, established brands balance smaller, riskier concepts and together will they create something authentic? Compelling? Is there a juicy anchor tenant paying a lion’s share of the rent, but who can attract complementary businesses?
Will the addition of one tenant turn off a series of others? And, at what cost?

As anyone who reads this blog knows, there’s not a lot of daylight between my musings and a (good) metaphor; I love them. But the reason I like this one is because life doesn’t always feel intentional in the way that decisions made by real estate professionals are. We’re “in” properties of our own making, yet not always of our own design.

So I’ve started to distinguish my literal tenants from my invisible but nevertheless vocal ones. Realizing there was a difference was a victory in and of itself.

There are the tenants that see the light of day — professional commitments, family time, hobbies, personal work, cultivating curiosity and interests — even common stressors around deadlines, finances, and relationships qualify. You could say that these are the tenants of our days. This stuff is obvious and makes for the ingredients for a full and meaningful life (managing this is its own mission.)

But there are other tenants that are unseen, that can’t be spotted on a schedule, but who, like a squatter, are uninvited occupants in our minds. They tend to be demanding, entitled, and perpetually unsatisfied. Some are old scripts. Others are punishing messages about what we haven’t yet started, completed, or might never get to, despite deep and sincere desires. Fleeting bouts of this can be expected; but when a stray idea sets up shop, a good property manager notices — and investigates.

We all want good tenants — which is to say inspired, benevolent streams of consciousness. But there’s a certain amount of rigor required to spot the sneaky ones taking up space, not just for days or weeks, but months…who have no storefront.

Some hidden occupants are great — like an idea percolating that hasn’t taken shape. But when they feel more like anxieties, chronic frustrations or mounting crises, they affect the whole “property” in ways seen and unseen.

I like to know who and what I’m hosting, so I can evict them if necessary. Giving them notice is a matter of seeing them, as a first step. They may not leave, and a resolution may not be clear to me, but they can’t be there without permission from the landlord (me), either.

Even when I can’t give them the boot entirely — because they’re thoughts, after all – the conversation often reveals something I need to see.

What to do with them depends on what they tell me.

Wife. Of. The Owner.

Isn’t it interesting that in 2018, the woman in a partnership could still be considered a plus-one to the boss?

I actually don’t think anyone using this title means any harm, but when I was on the receiving end of it the other day, I was reminded of how ubiquitous these unintended slights really are.

As the co-owner of a new business, I was in a delightful conversation with a new employee who, at the end of the conversation, gave me a compliment that included her excitement at talking to “the wife of the owner.” I offered an alternate title for myself to her which was, “I think you mean the co-owner.”

While I wasn’t upset, something changed in me. In that moment, I became personally invested in stopping the marginalization of anyone — from the subtle gestures to the more glaring ones. If a 23-year old, financially independent, highly educated, engaged citizen-of-the-world can make this mistake, it can happen to anyone.

I know our antennae are all rather “up” lately on this — but I don’t think there is any stance that is too vigilant on this topic. As someone who works behind the scenes for brands, I’ve gotten very used to seeing my work out in the public, on Instagram, in the communal zeitgeist — with zero attribution. Such is a life in brand strategy and advertising- -often invisible to the majority of the world. And that’s okay. But when I see that same standard applied to the woman behind the work in a myriad of other situations, it strikes a nerve. Maybe it even lights a fire.

If anyone has ever wondered why women (or anyone who feels unseen) “seem so angry,” it’s because we are so ducking tired of holding 15 balls in the air and still delivering high caliber work, only to be treated as a side dish to the main one. This comes in too many formats and contexts to list, from domestic and family contributions to vocational and professional ones – but I can assume that anyone reading this has been that person at least once, if not dozens of times. Feeling invisible, when you’re hauling a load, is one of the worst kinds of slights.

To those who find themselves in positions to change this, course correct or otherwise give credit where it is due, please do it. This is not a directive to men or women but to all of us — to acknowledge work (and workload) and to celebrate where it’s earned.

In a different situation that swirls at the center of my orbit lately, someone did that for me. And I won’t soon forget it. Thanks, Doug.

When someone shakes your cage, it can be hard to shake it off. A lingering psychic residue is often the by-product of an aggressive, insensitive or otherwise unexpected email, phone call or confrontation.

Thick skin, as some are quick to suggest, must be nice. But thick skin can’t be grown overnight. And even if it could, I’m not sure I’d like to insulate myself from everything it keeps out.

Being in the eye of anyone’s storm is unsettling at the very least. The chest tightens. There’s a destabilization that undermines even the most anchored human being.

Most people remember being yelled at as a child, usually by a parent who had lost cool, patience or wits. If it was a rare event, you learned that all people, even the best of them, have limitations. But if it was a common one, you learned something else.

You might have learned you were stupid.
Or worthless.
Or, that even where there’s love, there’s great unpredictability.
Maybe that early loss evolves into fear of losing control, lack of trust, a trigger for anger. It may sow deep, unresolved rage.

We have no idea who is walking around with what.
Until we get punched.

When I am on the receiving end of an explosive or otherwise unconscionable communication, I’m undone by the circumstances so much that the genesis of the other person’s unraveling rarely enters my consciousness. I don’t much care about why they are the way they are, and quickly move to a change of scenery or decompression as a means of recovery.

But that strategy doesn’t always deliver the emotional cleansing I’d hoped for. Instead, imagining what it must be like to be the person living with the kind of turmoil that causes them to lose it; of actually caring about why someone overreacted, rather than dismissing it, is a relatively accessible way to get out from under it.

While distress doesn’t typically have an expiration date, doing nothing to understand the source of the wound in others leaves it too free to wander in our own beings. Unchecked, it can show up later as something we may not like.

Practicing empathy is what allows us to see beyond what was done to us, to get a different view of the other. At a minimum, it wrangles and contains trauma. But better yet, it cultivates a quality worth having.