Anchored, Aligned, Accountable

Chapter One

Defining the Bullshit

I bet you know bullshit when you see it—­even if you can’t define what it is.

I’d even bet you have your own story about how the bullshit got in your way. Maybe without even knowing that’s what was happening.

I know I do. So here’s mine.

I was in my late twenties, a new associate at a law firm, and I’d managed to take some precious time off to go to a wedding. Actually, I was in the wedding. In fact, I was maid of honor. For my sister. A once-­in-­a-­lifetime moment, right? (And the key reason I took time off.)

So there I am on the day of the wedding, with just minutes to go before my sister Yoko walks down the aisle, and I’m standing there, bridesmaid’s dress on, makeup done, little bouquet in one hand and phone in the other. Writing out a damn work email.

Why? Because one of the firm’s partners had sent me an email. And when one of the partners reaches out to you, a mere associate? You better answer. Who cares that your sister’s getting married in ­T-­minus 30? Did they know that I was out of office? Yes. Did they know I was at a family event and on PTO? Yes.

I still remember how keyed up I felt. My nervous system was in overdrive, everything dialed up to 200 percent. My insecurity was blaring at full blast. I need to respond. The track that was playing underneath this, as I knew I had to reply: I don’t want to be seen as someone unreliable, someone not on the fast track. I need to show that I’m dedicated and that I’m available.

But what’s a trip is that I also remember how unimportant the case in question was. Like, not just insignificant compared to my sister’s wedding. Not important, period. It was some throwaway nonsense for a small civil issue with no deadlines approaching, no serious consequences, nothing that couldn’t wait forty-­eight hours for me to be back in Atlanta after my red-­eye and once again at my desk.

But I was still writing the f***ing email.

I managed to wrap it up in time, get my makeup finished, and hustle into place for my MOH duties. The wedding went on perfectly smoothly, and pretty much everyone had a great time. Except me. Because even after the ceremonies and my little speech honoring the newlyweds, I was mentally occupied by . . . work stuff.

Don’t get me wrong—­I was thrilled for Yoko and her husband, and more than ready to relax and cheer them on. But something was nagging at me. I didn’t quite know what, though—­at that time, I had done zero self-­reflection, no journaling or mantra-­writing or any kind of formal soul-searching. Yet in between the champagne toasts and first dances, I still hit this moment of clarity when I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn email.

This is some bullshit.

And I immediately told myself, basically, to shut up. Stop complaining. You’re being paid more than most people. You should be grateful.

Because, to my mind, I had plenty of good reasons not to think like that. I was making over six figures in my late twenties. I was at a prestigious, competitive, name-­brand firm. I got all kinds of luxe perks, like client lunches in fancy restaurants and swanky after-­work receptions.

In addition, it didn’t seem like too many Black folks were coming in as associates straight out of law school, or further climbing the ladder. So yeah, I had to—­had to—­prove myself, prove that people like me could cut it. And opting out of practicing law impacted other folks and their narratives and sense of worth. Ask any Asian person what their parents wanted for their career: doctor or lawyer (now maybe engineer can be added to the list). I believe my mom didn’t really second-­guess that my work was harassing me . . . because wasn’t there a sense of pride that this big law firm kept reaching out to her daughter?

And the law is not a profession where you can take it easy—­at least, not at that level of firm. If you were an associate, you were busting your ass, because you wanted to be on track. Make partner. And once you made partner, well, you’d bust your ass some more to hit your billables, retain clients, win cases. Being at the firm was like a pie-­eating contest where you cram in as much as you can . . . and then the prize is just more pie.

It would be months before I did anything to change my situation, to identify in a meaningful, lasting way what really took me to the edge about that email and all the expectations holding it in place. But my eyes were opened, and I started to notice other places where this misalignment, this bullshit, was present in my work, and later in my own personal life.

I remember a few weeks after Yoko’s wedding, I was leaving the firm really late one night—­as usual. The security guard, this older Black gentleman, wished me good night (though it was technically morning), and asked me a question.

“Are you married? You have kids?”

I told him no, and he just shook his head. “Well, if you want ’em, you ain’t gonna get ’em. With you being here all night until two a.m.? It ain’t gonna happen.”

I wasn’t pining to be married or be a mother or any of that stuff. So it wasn’t that he gave me a wake-­up call about any particular dream I had. But what he did do was make me think about the math. He made me think, What else am I giving up to work here? What is the cost of staying? And I was starting to realize that the math wasn’t mathin’.

See, whenever I’d noticed the bullshit before—­at the wedding, at those fancy client lunches, at any point in my seventy-­hour workweek—­ I’d been thinking so much about the costs of leaving.

I can’t leave, because I’m making such good money, and what kind of person would just throw that away?

I can’t leave, because what would people think? That I can’t cut it? Also, I can’t burn bridges.

I can’t leave, because then I’ll just be adding to the narrative: There goes another Black associate who couldn’t hack it here. Those diversity hires . . .

I can’t leave, because how would that make my mom feel? She’s so proud of me, and my success makes her sacrifices worth it.

But I never asked myself what the cost of staying would be.

And ultimately, I realized the cost of staying was not living the life I really wanted or being the person I actually want to be. Being compliant with a culture and way of life that I didn’t agree with.

There was much, much detangling to come from there. I was not magically enlightened and set free from that moment onward. But it was an early first inkling, that this is bullshit feeling, at the wedding that finally started me thinking about how much I was being held in place by stuff that was not me. That I did not believe in. That I did not want to contribute to.

And that’s a feeling I think everyone has had.

Because the bullshit is everywhere.

When everyone’s talking about “change,” “values,” or “Living Your Best Life,” as though these concepts are some kind of golden ticket to amazing organizational culture, but no one’s doing anything differently—­that’s it.

When you’re trying so hard not to be that person—­the person unloading on other folks, constantly getting caught with their foot in their mouth, and doubling down, even when they know they’re wrong (or at least aren’t “right”) and could’ve done better—­that’s it.

When you’re avoiding meetings and certain people. When you’re biting your tongue. When you feel yourself get passive-­aggressive or get ready to go off or blow your top at someone else for the same thing. When your 360 review comes back like a punch to the stomach—­“Is that what they think of me? I’m just trying to get ahead like everyone else!”—that’s definitely it.

When you find yourself saying things and doing things you swore you’d never do, being a person you’d never be, but still keep it up, because those are the behaviors that get rewarded.

When you’re showing up in accord with the way your family has always done things, the way you were taught to succeed at work, and in the ways that have worked for you before and even for the leaders you’ve seen who have “made it,” but you still feel “off” and like something’s not right.

Or when you’ve appointed yourself the Judge and Jury and find yourself sizing everyone around you for how they dropped the ball, how they could’ve done this better, why they should’ve said that differently. When you don’t even give yourself a pass from the judgment, and find the Judge has plenty to say to you when you drop the ball, screw things up, or even consider doing something different.