International leadership speaker Fawn Germer goes on a humanitarian journey and wonders what took her so long.

I talked with Hillary Clinton in my new book Pearls. She said:
“I have engendered a lot of reaction. Some of it is, frankly, who I am, and I brought it on myself. But some of it came from the expectations people have about women, what women are supposed to look like, do, say, act, et cetera. What I’ve tried to do—under some pretty challenging circumstances—is just to be able to go to bed every night feeling like I did the best I could do at being me.” — Hillary Clinton
Order Pearls

Get ready for the most life-changing mentoring session you have ever had, guided by many of the strongest, most accomplished women of our times. Pearls brings together the wisdom of prime ministers and presidents, CEOs and Nobel Peace Prize winners, adventurers, Academy Award winners, scientists, journalists, Olympic athletes, newsmakers, senior executives and other women who have captured our hearts while making history. Order now at http://amzn.to/tXRPte

Who is in PEARLS?

Hillary Clinton, Janet Reno, Susan Sarandon, Frances McDormand, Jane Goodall, Ellen Goodman, Martina Navratilova, Nadia Comanici, Meg Whitman, Carly Fiorina, Irene Rosenfeld, Denise Morrison, Rita Moreno, Sylvia Earle, Susan Butcher, Sandra Bernhard, Erin Brockovich, Margaret Cho, Marva Collins, Eve Ensler, Arianna Huffington, Laura Ingraham, Geraldine Laybourne, Mavis Leno, Wilma Mankiller, Susan Butcher, Dr. Christianne Northrup, Ann Richards, Pat Schroeder,Christine Todd Whitman and many, many others! Order now at http://amzn.to/tXRPte

It’s Launch Day, So You Get Bonuses…

Launch day is when publishers and authors offer all kinds of bonuses to drive sales and give books momentum.
With Pearls, today is really the classic, “Wait, there’s more!” moment. If you buy today and send your Amazon.com order number to info@fawngermer.com by midnight, Nov. 14, you will receive three bonuses that are worth more than $50:

1. The digital download to Finding the UP in the Downturn, Fawn’s book on turning the economic crisis into a moment of opportunity. This book is now in its third printing and thousands of copies have been purchased by corporations for their employees. (Retails for $9.95)
2. The mp3 to one of Fawn’s audio programs, Is Control Freaking You Out? Which shows how to let go of your need to control this very uncontrollable experience called life. (Retails for $10.95)
3. Fawn’s life-skills course on rewriting the negative scripts in your life that have been holding you back. (Retails for $29.95)

WANT AUTOGRAPHED COPIES FOR THE HOLIDAYS?

Signed copies can be ordered directly from us by ordering here. E-mail info@fawngermer.com with the first names of the people you want inscribed in the books you have ordered.   If you want books personalized, please order before Nov. 26. After that time, Fawn will be on a speaking tour of Dubai and India. After she leaves, we will be able to send you pre-signed books, but they won’t have the names inscribed.

Life was so much easier when I walked into the office and someone handed me a pink slip of paper that said, “While you were out…” Now I come back in and have to check e-mail, voice mail and Facebook before I sit still for a conference call that drags on forever because everybody thinks they are supposed to say something profound.

For the longest time, I convinced myself  social media was a fad. But I’ve been interviewing senior corporate leaders for a book project and now realize that social media is in its infancy and I’d better figure it out or get left behind. I am too young to escape all my electronic tethers and too old to be happy about them.

Tethering has changed us as a people. I was recently at home with two  friends and each of us was somewhere else, via our laptops. We did not interact, and all we shared was space. My friend Scarlett posted that she was at my house with me — but was she even there?

I watched a young couple glued to their cell phones instead of each other while dining in a fine restaurant. On Valentine’s Day.

We Google everything. Dinner conversation stops so we can check what year Foreigner released I Wanna Know What Love Is or whether it is true that a female ferret will die if she goes into heat and can’t get a mate. We now have an insatiable need for useless knowledge, an uncontrollable mountain of e-mail and an infinite opportunity to distract our focus and minimize our productivity.

What you are hearing is the voice of someone resenting the technology we must all master in order to remain relevant and viable in the business world. I have to learn it, use it and excel at it — we all do.

The old dogs of the work world have no choice but to learn all the new tricks. Years of experience or loyal service don’t matter if you are less effective than a new college grad who will work for a third of what you make.

We have to realize the potential of technology and new media every day, and we have to learn, learn, learn. Technology frees and imprisons us at the same time. We have to define for ourselves how we can be effective without letting a monitor, cell phone or tablet computer define our world.

We can take charge of our Internet addictions, learn to stand in line without staring into our smart phones, regulate how often we check e-mail, leave devices in the car when we go to dinner…

Well, we should be able to do that. I was on vacation last week and had no Internet access. A neighbor let me check in daily, but I was forced to untether. It was painful — yet liberating. I was present and mindful during my vacation and couldn’t obsessively check CNN, the Drudge Report, the Huffington Post or the like. My attitude was not colored by negative news. I didn’t waste my day getting lost in meaningless Internet searches or idiotic Youtube videos. All I did was check my e-mail in the morning, then go live my life.

How refreshing.

Every time I veer off my path, it is a mistake. I’ve strayed because of money, a desire for “security” and even in the name of friendship. The lessons I have learned every time have been painful — and powerful.

Know your path and stay on it.

Right after my first book, Hard Won Wisdom, was published, I was offered a job as an editor for a newspaper that would give me a regular paycheck, health insurance and the security my freelance work had never afforded. I could still do occasional motivational speaking at leadership conferences, but the job would have to come first. My first day in the office felt like it lasted two months, and it got worse from there. After seven excruciating weeks, I  quit.

I could have avoided all of it if I had just listened to my gut.

The surprise ending  to that story occurred months later when the corporate owners fired all but two people in my department. If I’d have stayed, I’d have lost my “secure”  job and missed my once-in-a-lifetime  opportunity to strike out on my leadership speaking career when I had the visibility of a best-selling book that Oprah had endorsed. Chasing my dream seemed like the riskier option, but those firings proved that betting on myself was far less risky than staying with what seemed so secure.

Three years later, I was recruited for a communications job.  I wasn’t interested because it would have meant giving up my speaking business — which we know I love more than any work I have ever done. But when I heard the salary was well into the six figures, I started the hiring process. I knew it wasn’t right for me, but I kept thinking about that fat paycheck. I turned it down at the last minute because I just couldn’t go through with it.  A little over a year later, all the top people there were tossed out in a reorganization after a new CEO was hired. Again, I saved myself from an opportunity that would have cost me my speaking career and that “secure” paycheck.

I  listened to my gut and won.

This year, I was pulled into a project that I  really didn’t want to do. I’d tried to decline the assignment, but was pressured into it as a personal favor to a friend. I knew it was a mistake, but ignored my instincts. I even recruited other colleagues  to help, and in the end, every one of us felt burned and disillusioned.

I knew I was making a mistake, but did it anyway.

We all have occasions when we talk ourselves into believing we are doing what is right for us even when we know it is all wrong. We silence our powerful gut instinct as we make decisions that affect our careers, finances, families, relationships and more. You can get all the advice in the world and you can fill pages upon pages of “pro and con” lists as you wrestle with your life decisions. But the greatest reward of self-awareness is that you have all the tools you need to make the decisions that are best for you. You just have to use those tools.

Listen to your gut.

With my sweet boy.

I was Reggie’s third mother when I adopted him. He was a 6-year-old Golden Retriever whose first home was in Wisconsin with a family that adored him. Unfortunately, his bad hips made him suffer greatly in the winter, so he had to move to Florida to live with relatives. Four years later, he weighed just 45 pounds.

They intervened and got him to the Golden Retriever Rescue of Mid-Florida, where he waited a very long time to find his forever home. When he and I first met, he paid me no attention whatsoever and instead danced with the water from the garden hose and demonstrated every trick he knew. He was showing off, and I figured he’d be a good dog for me. I just hoped he’d give me some attention.

He gave me all of his attention. Once he moved into my home, he never left my side. It has been nine years since I went to the bathroom alone.  When I showered, I’d see him poking his face in from the other side of the curtain. When I dried my hair, he wanted to be dried too. Reggie was always right next to me, and it was annoying.

My sister-in-life  Tina Proctor noticed this and blurted, “Oh my God! He loves you so much!”

Suddenly, I got it. I got him. He wasn’t trying to take love from me. He was trying to give it to me.

We assume needy means “clingy,” but Reg taught me that there is nothing needy about unconditional love. Reggie loved me more than anyone on this earth had the capacity to love me. At night, he’d try so hard to keep his eyes open  just so he could watch me for a few more minutes.

A couple of years ago, I tracked down his first mama — Heather Purdy — and wrote her to let her know that his life had a happy ending. Ever since, we have had a close friendship. She and the family came to visit Reggie a little over a year ago. Before they arrived, my friend Suzann asked me what I’d do if he didn’t recognize them. I said, “He’s a Golden. Even if he doesn’t recognize them, he’ll act like he does.” But, when Heather got out of the rental car, Reggie ran straight to her. She dropped to the ground and he buried his head in her chest. He stood there for the longest time, reconnecting with the first mother he’d missed so much. That day, he loved and cuddled every member of his old family. I didn’t get much attention, but when I put him in bed that night, he flopped over top of me as if to say, “You’re still my mommy.”

Reggie reunited with his first family.

Parenting a 15-year-old Golden Retriever is not easy. In human years, “Grampaw” was about 105.  Nine months ago, it appeared he had suffered a terrible stroke. I was on the road for a speech, but the minute I got home, I called the vet to come out and give him a merciful goodbye.  Dr. Patrick Hafner — the best vet on earth — came to my house,  took one look at Reggie and said, “Oh. Old dog vestibular syndrome.” “What does that mean?” I asked. “It means he has really bad vertigo and will be fine in about three weeks.” Dr. Hafner said it was the one stay of execution he was able to give.

After that, Reggie enjoyed everything his life had to offer him. He enjoyed eating and sleeping on my lap and, apparently, pooping whenever there was poop to be pooped. For the last six months of his life, he pretty much forgot that he was supposed to do his business outside, on the grass. I always kept a sheet on top of the bed because there would often be a 3-a.m. night deposit. He was happy all the way until the very end.

His actual birthday is April 18, and I scheduled a small party for the 16th and invited Heather down. But, Reggie pretty much stopped eating on the morning of the 14th, and although it looked like he would rebound, I knew his time here was ending. That night, I took him to the Whistle Stop Cafe and he didn’t touch the delicious hot dog I’d ordered for him. He wouldn’t make his party, but he’d be able to leave this world in the arms of the two mothers who loved him forever. The odds of that were so slight, and the fact that it happened had to be Divine.

Don’t feel sorry for me because my heart is broken. I was so lucky to have that precious boy. Look at what he taught me:

First: God is dog, dog is God. The unconditional love of a dog is the closest thing to the Divine that I have ever experienced. It is pure, it comes without strings and it is eternal. Simply magnificent, magnificiently simple.

Second: Don’t assume that those who are clingy or needy want to rob you of anything. They may just be trying to give you their world.

Third: Aging ain’t pretty, but it beats the alternative. I wouldn’t give up one minute that I had with my pooping pup. Not one minute.

Finally, with every goodbye there is a time for a hello. I’ve already lost my babies Honey and Vinny and Chelsea and Buster. My world changed with every single goodbye, but soon after, there was another animal who needed a home. If not for losing Honey, I’d never have had my beloved Vinny. If not for losing Vinny, I wouldn’t have my Louie.

Reggie lived 15 amazing years. My bed will have an empty space tonight, but it won’t be empty for long. I know Reggie would be happy about me giving his spot to some other dog who needs a mama. He was that kind of guy.

Rest in peace, my sweet boy.

About power.

Nobody gives it to you. You don’t grow into it.

You have it. The more you use it, the more you understand it. The more you understand it, the more it grows.

You spend your 20s and 30s trying to figure out who you are and where you belong.  When you hit 40, it suddenly becomes less important to prove things, fit in and win approval. At 50, you stop wasting time. No more hemming and hawing and endlessly worrying about what others expect of you.

You set boundaries and use your power. You say “No, I’m not going there,” and you don’t.

Finally! The strength to be who you really are, the nerve to do what it is that you really want to do —  but it all comes at a time when you also have to deal with the insult of invisibility that comes with middle age. You put your foot down, but a lot of people don’t notice or care.

What the hell! I’d rather be emboldened at 50 than where I was at 30. I am sure I am not the only middle-aged woman to realize I had to make a lot of mistakes in order to earn my wisdom.

The other night, I shared some of my growth lessons with the very sharp 24-year-old daughter of a friend. She listened intently when I told her about setting boundaries and bolstering her self-esteem. She nodded in all the right places.

“When you know something isn’t right for you, act on it,” I told her.

“Everyone is insecure. It’s just a head game we play on ourselves…”

“Don’t settle…”

“You are the boss of you…”

“Who is going to stand up for you if you don’t stand up for yourself?”

There I was, mentoring. Lecturing. Is it even possible to learn the big lessons in life through other people? Battle scars are great teachers. Growth is a sequential revelation.

Would Dorothy have ever learned a damned thing if she’d known all along that she only had to click her heels to get back home? She had to encounter little people and flying monkeys and witches and The Wizard before she learned that everything she needed was right there within her. She always had the power she so desperately sought.

So, about power. Nobody gives it to you. You don’t grow into it.

How far will you travel down the road before you realize you already have it right there within you?

With Joyce.

A week ago, I was on the road for a speech and met a woman who broke down crying because she and her sister hadn’t talked for months. She didn’t know how to make the first move.

“Call her!” I said.

As if it were that easy.

“Call her!” I said again.

Over time, I’ve experienced a handful of conflicts that have blown apart some of the best friendships I have ever had. The last month taught me a lesson that I want to share. It’s this: Stubbornness is a very expensive commodity.

People are imperfect and relationships are fragile. Someone once explained to me that, just because a friendship makes it 20 years, it doesn’t mean it’ll make it 21.

That’s a hard lesson. So is the lesson that you don’t win much when you know you are right.

The blow-up I had with my best friend Joyce came during a kayaking vacation with the girls down in the Florida Keys in 2002. In two decades of friendship, we’d never voiced a single cross word with one another. On that trip, outside stresses had us on edge. When we left the Keys, we ended our friendship.

I was devastated. After a couple of weeks, I sent a letter asking Joyce if we could talk. All I got back was a short e-mail that said she wasn’t ready. She lives four hours north of me, but we were a million miles apart.

Three years later, I wrote again and said I missed her. She wrote back and told me she missed me. But, things were still not right. During the next six years, I saw her twice: Once, for lunch. The other time, for her father’s funeral. We occasionally called and had long talks, but there were no visits. Just talk.

A couple of weeks ago, I was in North Florida to start work on a novel. Joyce’s husband was gone for the weekend and she urged me to stay. In two minutes, it was clear how much we had missed. There was love and laughter and understanding and promise. Joyce cuts through the b.s. of life and cracks me up with her insights. I’d missed that so much. I’d missed how comfortable I feel hanging out with her. She gets me more than anybody does.

We’d wasted so much time. I am sure neither of us can even remember exactly what it was that caused the blow-up, just that that she was sure she was right, I was sure I was right, and in the end, we both were a couple of dorks. We have vowed to never go to that dark space again.

The fact that I have to share another story like that could make it seem like I get into things like this a lot. I don’t. I have been blessed with an army of friends, but there are a few stubborn soldiers in that army, including me.

Three weeks ago, my friend Teresa and I got into it because, just like the Joyce situation, we both had outside stresses that made us emotionally vulnerable. In our case, we both were on edge because we were going through bad break-ups. There were some snippy e-mails, and then silence – the kind of silence that wraps itself in anger and hurt. Thank God Teresa it ended quickly.

“Fawn, can we talk yet?”  said the one-line e-mail from her yesterday.

“Why yes we can,” I wrote back.

I’d missed her so much. Last night, we shared a bottle of wine at dinner, toasting our friendship and vowing that we should never fight again. But, just in case we do, the fight can’t last any longer than this one: three weeks.

Believe me, three weeks of being hurt is one hell of a lot better than three years. If you’re missing someone who matters, go fix the problem.

My father is the world’s worst patient. In the hours after I brought him home from the hospital after his pacemaker surgery, he wouldn’t sit still. It was like I was chasing a toddler around the house.

“Where are you?” I called out as I searched for him. One minute, he was in the living room. The next minute, his office.

“Daddy, sit down! Take a nap!”

“I’m resting!” he hollered out to me.

“Where are you?”

“The laundry room. I need to get these towels out of the dryer…”

“Good grief! Come here!” I scolded, but by then, he was off organizing something in the kitchen.

Everybody roots for the incorrigible Fred Germer to just keep on keeping on, especially if his kids are trying to slow him down. He is the most inspiring character I have ever seen – an 83-year-old licensed pharmacist who works at Vanguard Advanced Pharmacy Systems in Bradenton, Fl. I spoke at Dad’s company Christmas party two years ago and watched as every single employee hugged “Mr. Fred,” who is their company mascot.

Dad has to be the only person on earth who has never bitched about his job, his paycheck, his boss, his customers, his schedule or his aching feet. Never.

He didn’t want the pacemaker because he didn’t want to miss work.

“Are you kidding me?” I calmly asked him the first time we discussed his decision to ignore  the cardiologist’s recommendation.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” I yelled the 20th time I brought it up.

He finally relented and got his pacemaker a week ago. His recovery has been unexpectedly difficult because the doctor cleared him for all activity – including driving – which in his mind meant he was 100 percent good to go. Forget prudence. Dad was driving the day after he got out of the hospital – visiting my mom in the nursing home – and driving to the park for a 30-minute walk. I’m pretty sure he also went to Publix and got his car washed. He claims he has rested a lot, but that was never witnessed by anyone, and he’s been known to make up stuff like that.

What I know is that the last eight days have been marked by numerous dizzy spells, strained breathing and a fall. That’s the stuff he’s copped to. I’m sure there are other problems that my brother and I know nothing about. The pacemaker’s fine. He’s got other medical issues now, but he refuses to slow down.

I want to love him enough to let him live this stage of his life the way he wants to live it. I want to support his desire to work until his very last breath. But he’s getting weaker, and I am scared he will get hurt. I want to protect him like he always protected me. I want to make him safe. He perceives any protective measures as a challenge to his independence – and he won’t stand for that. I have come to realize that his bad judgment may be the end of him, but he doesn’t care. He’s playing his own end game.

You may be cheering for him in your head – rooting for the guy who defies his well-meaning but restrictive kids – and I probably would be too, if we weren’t talking about my own precious father. He’s the only dad I’ve got – and I want to keep him alive. I need him.

This is a hard moment. I feel fear. Big, scary fear, because I worry that Mom and Dad’s reasons for living are so tied together that, when one leaves, the other will follow. My precious mother has been severely disabled for 20 years, and I have no doubt that the only reason she lingers now in the end stages of Alzheimer’s is because she doesn’t want to miss any of dad’s visits.

A couple of months ago, a bunch of my friends rented a house at the beach near Dad’s house. He joined us for breakfast, and Daddy was such a hit that everyone insisted I bring him back for dinner.

“He’s so inspiring,” my friend Terri said. “He makes us feel good about ourselves.”

That’s what he does for this world.

For years, Dad has told me: “I love you, care about you and appreciate you.” He calls every night and says those exact words. I am so afraid of what will happen when I don’t hear his voice reminding me how much I matter.

There are a lot of people who make me feel loved, but really, the voice that matters most is Daddy’s.

I want to keep him alive forever, but he won’t let me try.