The Difference Between Men and Women


Isn’t the Internet a wonderful thing? You can read something interesting, then click to something else quite interesting, which leads, hours later, to an utterly random yet extremely fascinating article, completely unrelated to what got you started.

Using just this circuitous method, I stumbled on an interview with researcher Beverly Whipple, recently named one of the world’s 50 most influential living scientists by New Scientist magazine. Whipple, professor emeritus at Rutgers University, began her career as a nurse and switched to sex research 44 years ago when a patient asked if a man who had suffered a heart attack could ever have sex again. In the course of her career, she has answered that question and many others.

One line from the interview really jumped out at me. When asked the difference between men and women in terms of sex, Whipple replied, “Men are goal oriented, and women are pleasure oriented.”

Well, now. That makes a ton of sense, doesn’t it?

Then I wondered if there were other areas of life where this is true. Sure, some men are keen to experience, not just rush to a goal. And women are known to set and meet goals. But in the aggregate, the idea that men have one definition of success and women have another has implications in the boardroom, as well as the bedroom. As I pondered, I realized there are plenty of examples of this, especially if you exchange the word “pleasure” for “experience”.

Think about shopping. A man goes into a Shopping Situation with a seek-and-destroy mindset: “I need two new shirts, a tie and boxers, then I’m out of here!” Women may have things they need to pick up, but also look at the possibilities. “Sharon would like this!” or “This might work for Tom.” Women often shop with a friend, and make a day of it. They pay attention to ambiance, texture, sounds.

He has a goal. She’s after an experience.

Another example? The NCAA Final Four bracket chart. Can you think of another more goal-oriented deal than that? A guy will completely fill in the bracket and track the progress of the teams to the ultimate goal – the #1 position. On the other hand, when I watch college basketball I am fascinated by the stories, “Brent, the power forward, Lucas Jones, certainly has faced adversity. He was raised by his loving, asthmatic grandmother in Waukegon’s gritty inner city after he tragically lost his parents to a freak Zamboni incident at age 8. He’s a mentor to little kids at the Girls and Boys Club, a ventriloquist and a straight A student.” Ahhwww. Women are suckers for that stuff. It’s all part of the experience.

Women are color commentators, men are play-by-play.

So, where else does it matter that men are goal oriented and women are experience oriented? Let’s get back to sex. Many men, and plenty of women, feel that orgasm is the goal of sex. Some men feel that there must be “something wrong” if their partner doesn’t climax. Yet, I was surprised to learn from Professor Whipple that over 70% of women report they do not have orgasm every time they have intercourse. Sadly, there are a lot of women, and men, who feel “less than” sexually when, in fact, they are quite normal. The average woman takes 20 minutes to become sexually aroused — and, how shall I say it, in the rush to make their goal, many men forget not only the time, but the day of the week [insert laugh track here].

Imagine the mutual satisfaction if a man was aware that the experience is what is important to a woman, rather than rating “success” on whether she did or didn’t have an orgasm. What if he fully supported her “pleasure for the sake of pleasure” and de-emphasized orgasm? With less pressure to perform for both parties, there would be better, and dare I say it, more sex.

I have to write a word about “male performance”. What a doofy phrase. As if the man performs and the woman applauds. As we’ve seen above, that’s not always true. Take it from me, it’s not a performance, gents. Writer Gary Zukav talks very eloquently about the power of the sexual connection in his book The Seat of The Soul. In that book, Zukav suggests that forgetting the spiritual aspect of sex strips it of its meaning. In that way, too, the idea of “male performance” strips sex of the mutuality of the moment.

Just understanding that he needs a goal and she needs an experience could transform a relationship. Rather than expecting him to love shopping, just like she does, a woman could say, “I am going to respect his need to seek-and-destroy when he’s shopping and not browbeat him to enjoy it as much as I do.” Or a man might plan an outing with a woman and say, “Rather than try to climb to the top of Mt. Baldy as fast as possible, I’m going to make sure Susan really enjoys the experience. We’ll move at a reasonable pace and stop halfway to have a picnic lunch.”

Wouldn’t it be great if a male manager could acknowledge that there is more to work than meeting and beating objectives – and reward women who focus on team-building and systems strengthening? And a woman manager could recognize that the guys on the team need the satisfaction of having something to strive toward, and create a process to measure and reward progress toward the goal?

There is so much to learn and appreciate from the differences between men and women. If a man can learn from a woman to slow down and enjoy the experience, while the woman learns the satisfaction of making and reaching goals, a kind of relational balance can be had – a balance which makes life for each of them that much more full.

Working At It



I believe the secret to living a happy life is to be fully conscious – to be alive and awake to your life. Being alive and awake can have its downsides, certainly. It’s no fun to feel sad, or to experience loss. But when you are alive and awake, even the most painful experience provides an opportunity to learn something and to grow.

I went to a funeral this week, and, although it was sad, I was reminded of something very valuable. My friend Pamela Gardner Ahearn died quite suddenly; she was 52 and had led an extraordinary life. As a protocol officer at the State Department, she knew many famous, even legendary, people who influenced history. But it was as a friend that Pam had the most impact.

The way people responded to her death showed me that. Folks showed up. They pitched in. They reached out. They cared for her husband, her mother, her sisters, nieces and nephews. They came because they knew Pam would have done it for them, had the situation been reversed.

I was in my mid-20s when I met Pam. I worked at the White House doing Presidential events; Pam worked at the State Department and dated one of my colleagues, who, after a courtship of 13 years or so, became her husband. There is such a vibrant connection between those of us who worked together in those days. Maybe it’s that we were young, with a lot of responsibility, working in high pressure situations. We needed to trust and rely each other to get the job done. Happily, that connection is still there.

It’s a bittersweet thing to look forward to seeing long-lost friends at such a sad occasion, but that’s what it was for me. Friends came from California, from New England, from New York, from Tennessee, from down the street. You know how you have friends who you can pick right up with, even if you don’t talk for months or years? It’s that way with these people. And I was so happy to see them.

At the funeral, my old boss Jim told some funny stories about Pam and poignantly noted that he had never told Pam how much he admired her and appreciated her friendship. It was a heartfelt admission from a rather tough guy.

I thought about how often I tell my friends and family how important they are to me. Not often enough. I glanced around the church and realized I was sitting in a pew with people very dear to me, people I admire, people who I have worked with in extremely challenging situations. One row ahead was a woman with such strong values and priorities – her sense of compassion, caring and kindness continues to serve as a model to me. Across the way was one of my favorite couples – people whose down-to-earth nature endures despite their high-profile positions. Behind me was one of the first friends I made as an adult in Washington, DC. Handing out programs was a former Senate staffer turned at-home mom – one of the most insightful women I know. On the other aisle was a woman who has been very generous to me, and others. Among the pallbearers was a man who gave me a sound piece of advice at a time I needed it most – he said, “Act in ways you can be proud of when the crisis has passed.” Good advice from a good man.

Everywhere I looked were people I love, people I have relied on, people who have enriched my life.

And I doubt I’ve ever told them that.

How about you? Do you have people in your life you rely on, who you appreciate, who you admire – yet haven’t told them how you feel?

One of the other speakers was a lovely woman who grew up with Pam in Nashville. They met in sixth grade and had a friendship which endured forty years. Forty years! How did they do it? “We worked at it,” she said, simply. And I realized, in that moment, that I need to work at it, too.

That evening, I got a call from one of my dearest friends who was also at the funeral. She and I have shared so many of life’s challenges, but our schedules are such that we don’t see each other that often. She left me a voice message, just to tell me she loved me. She was working at it. As I will, too.

I’m going to give you a homework assignment – is there someone, or several people, you need to work at it with? Who need to hear just how important they are to you? More importantly, are there people you need to say “I love you” to? I’ll bet the answer is yes. So, take a minute and write a note, send an email, leave a voice message, or, better yet, grab a cup of coffee and look your friend in the eye and tell them what they mean to you.

Pam’s eyes would twinkle at the thought.

The Way of Transition


The seasons are changing. I can see it outside my window. There are little buds on the Japanese maple. Tulip tips are pushing up through the ground. There’s a light, warm quality to the breeze – it’s bringing spring.

I love spring. Since I can remember, spring has meant happiness. Sure, it’s my birthday in a few weeks and the kid in me loves that. But the soon-to-be 47 year old grown-up in me has a different reason for joy.

I give a class on Managing Transition. Did you know that each transition begins with an ending? Odd, but so. We end a job, or a relationship, or an old way of being. Then we enter what writer William Bridges calls The Neutral Zone. I like to think of it as the Gray Period.

In my class, I liken the Gray Period to winter. Trees look dead. Grass looks dead. It’s cold. People hunker down. There’s a certain bleak stillness to winter. But inside those lifeless looking trees and plants, plenty is going on. Within each dormant tree are the tiny little beginnings of buds waiting to burst forth.

And so it is, too, with people in transition. They endure an ending which may bring grief, change, uncertainty, immobilization. Then they hunker down in a bleak stillness, seemingly doing nothing… but inside, if they could peek, so much is growing, changing and shifting. Inside, there’s a new beginning.

The new beginning is as inevitable as Spring. A renewal. A new start. A new optimism.

When people in transition tell me there’s no hope, I usually challenge them. Saying there’s no hope is like telling me there’s no Spring! Honey, just as sure as having a birthday, there’s always a Spring.

Certainly, March can come in like a lion or a lamb – it’s an unpredictable month. And transition is equally unpredictable. One can never know the look and shape of a new beginning, nor can we know how it will impact our lives. And perhaps that’s what people who voice “no hope” are trying to address. It’s not that there’s no hope – it’s just that there’s no control.

Control is such an overrated thing. I have a book on my desk (which I’ve not yet read), called A Perfect Mess by Eric Abrahamson and David Freedman which posits that disorder can spark creativity. On the book jacket (which I have read), it says, “Though it flies in the face of almost universally accepted wisdom, moderately disorganized people, institutions, and systems frequently turn out to be more efficient, more resilient, more creative, and in general more effective than highly organized ones…”

In my work I’ve found that those who approach the Gray Period with a certain level of uncertainty, disorder and, most importantly, openness, have a better opportunity to find a novel or creative approach which often sparks their new beginning.

On an episode of The Simpsons, Homer was, once again, out of a job. His daughter Lisa was going through the want ads, looking for a job for her dad. “Dad, here’s one,” she said. “Wanted: a technical supervisor.” “Oh, Lisa,” Homer whined. “I could never do that job. I’m not a technical supervisor, I’m a supervising technician!”

The Gray Period is a time for seeing connections – to see how a technical supervisor can become a supervising technician. How an at-home mom can become a business owner. How a lawyer can become a non-profit executive. How an engineer can become a clergywoman. How a suddenly motherless woman can learn to nurture herself. How down-sizing, or divorce, or even death, can be the best thing that ever happened to you.

And that’s where I find joy. I utterly embrace transition in all its messy splendor. I welcome it for the hope it engenders in me. Because I know that for every ending, there is a new beginning. Every. Single. Time. It may not feel possible in the middle of your own personal Gray Period, but, believe me, Spring is there — just waiting to burst forth.

How will you know when your Gray Period has ended? My friend, when you feel the warm breeze blowing across your face, and see the trees bud, and tulip tops poking up, you will know. You have a new start. You have Spring. Even if your new beginning comes in a month other than March.

Changing Through Crisis


A woman I admire asked me to lunch last week. She’s the kind of woman you note across a room — you see her vitality, sense her kindness, adore her laughter. She’s a pip.

Shortly after the waitress took our order, my friend looked me in the eye and asked, “How did you do it?” For a minute I felt a little like O.J. Simpson and ran through the many things I could have done which require some kind of explanation, or a book contract. She went on, “Because I’m going to be following in your footsteps.”

Then I knew. See, I went through a painful, unexpected divorce a few years ago, and in an instance I could see the familiar wash of emotions — sadness, confusion, pain, grief, relief — on that dear woman’s face. “You seem to have your act together now, Michele,” she said. “How did you get to be so peaceful and happy?”

How’d I do it? In that moment, I couldn’t think of how I did it. I babbled a little bit, pushed a pickle across the plate, and focused on listening to her story intently. Later, when I gathered myself, I told her that my journey was just a series of baby steps — in the aggregate, more forward than backward — toward a new life. One thing I knew for sure: somewhere along the way I made a real commitment to feeling better, and to my own personal growth.

I changed, I told her, through the crisis of my divorce. Which is a good thing, believe me! I let go of that which no longer served me and kept or grew that which does serve me — that which allows me to be the best possible…me.

I told my friend that the same outcome could be hers, and that I’d be there to help.

I went home with a niggling feeling that I hadn’t given my friend specific tools she could use to manage her crisis. I was a little frustrated — hey, I’m a coach! I should be able to do better!

That night I picked up a book I’d just started reading — Change 101 by Bill O’Hanlon. Imagine my surprise when O’Hanlon identified three keys to turn crisis into an opportunity for growth: connection, compassion and contribution. Wow! Why couldn’t I have read it the day before?

So, my friend, here are O’Hanlon’s Three Keys to Changing in a Crisis (and the answer to your question “Michele, how did you do it?”):

Does the crisis allow you deeper connections with yourself, with others, or with deeper meaning? In my case, the answer was (d) all of the above. Today I am more myself than at any other time in my life. I have deeper connections with friends and family, and have even made new friends since my divorce (which is not always easy to do at any age). I have learned from so many people, and listened to so many wonderful teachers. But the greatest gift is the knowledge that I am connected, in a spiritual way, to everyone and everything. This has been a deep and meaningful shift for me, and forms the very framework of my life.

Did the crisis lead you to accept yourself and others? Here’s another big shift: I now know that even the most flawed person is probably doing his very best given his situation. I hold in my mind the idea, espoused by theologian Henri Nouwen, that love is best defined as making a safe place for another person to be fully himself. OK. If I am trying to bring more love into the world (which is an intention of mine), then I have to accept you for what you are and what you bring. Not who I think you should be or what you should bring…no, it’s all about you, baby. Which, of course, frees up my time because I am no longer struggling with or against you. Creative loafing, anyone?

Can you find a way to give back because of the crisis? Feeling that you can help others who’ve been through a similar experience can be an uplifting experience. It can ease your passage through the stages of grief, and give you, again, a sense of belonging. And helping. And being a force for good in the universe. I stumbled on an amazing online divorce support group which was key to processing my experience and allowed me the opportunity to help others. I met some of the nicest, most thoughtful and generous people in the world who were either in exactly the same spot as I — or had been there. It was very comforting to not feel so alone.

Crisis is not always about divorce. It’s finding out you won’t have a job in January, which is what five of my clients recently learned. It’s illness, or death. It’s your house burning down. It’s your child in trouble. It’s your brother in trouble. It’s you in trouble.

We rightly tend to think of crisis in terms of loss, because there is usually something which has to go. With O’Hanlon’s rubric — making sure we make connections, have compassion and find a way to contribute — we can use crisis to change. We turn the tables on scary old crisis and use it (ruthlessly and with no regard for its feelings) to effect positive, lasting and marked change in our lives.