#and doing a terrible job at playing settlers of catan

[h0neyfreak]

if you are new at being an adult/living on your own (especially if you started out adulthood or post grad life during the early days of the pandemic) and feel lonely despite having friends and people you talk to, please invite people to hang out at your place. this sounds like stupid advice but not enough people take it to heart. “oh we’re not that close” that’s how you get that close!!! I cannot emphasize enough how much your friends don’t care if you have socks on the floor or some dishes in the sink or a cramped apartment that doesn’t look very nice or some central activity to keep them entertained. invite people over. don’t limit yourself to things that cost money and exist only in public. let yourself be with people in the intimacy of your own home. the number of times a friend has come over and just started doing the dishes for me or I’ve sat matching socks while they folded their laundry on the floor. let them bring some snacks instead of venmoing each other for takeout. provide some tea or alcohol or whatever you like and can afford. you don’t need an excuse to see people. you don’t need an excuse to let them see you.

[abronzeagegod]

Meet Lyta

Lyta is a coworker of Aeth, they've been working at Tech Support for about two years less than Aeth. She's passionate, a bit loud, and can be a lot, but she's also loyal as hell and deeply into Aeth. (Aeth doesn't know because Aeth is dumb) She's been Aeth's best friend for a number of years at this point, and she's ok with how things are for now. Her flirting style is extremely unsubtle.

Still she's very smart and is a very capable tech support technician. If you need someone to solve a problem with only a soldering iron and a 1/4 a roll of duct tape, call Lyta.

Luck: half way decent

Likes

truly trashy TV: And the Fifth Rose was Black and Real Monsters of the Sea are her top favorites but she will watch some dramas if the mood calls for it (Law Machines is a good one too)

playing Future Myths with Aeth, and making truly insane builds (twenty levels of technomancer, seventeen levels of war engineer, and three levels of moon paladin which any "serious" player would say is extremely dumb and nonoptimal but Lyta makes it work, has fun with it, and constantly does things to upset the "standard meta")

going out into the field and solving problems with whatever she's got on hand

meeting weird people over the course of the job

talking about meeting weird people over the course of the job with Aeth

Aeth

Aeth

She is neutral on:

mimosas, Lyta likes herself a brunch (especially with Aeth) but doesn't get the love of mimosas at brunch

the second season finale of The Third Sun Rises which wasn't good, but she doesn't hate nearly as much as Aeth, and she has learned to not bring it up any more

her apartment, it's fine, better than her last one, but she's just not attached to it, it's not really home, but it'll do

supremely popular modernist artist Orgil, Lyta does get it, she understands the art and the intent behind it, she just doesn't think it's the greatest thing in the world

the board game Encroachment (think Settlers of Catan) which is fun under the right circumstances but the people who are too into it or care way too much they suck the fun out of it, she wants to play it and just have fun and not get too into it or debate strategy

She hates:

her coworker Teddy, he knows what he did

the dark fantasy movie series Highland Court and all the subsequent spin-off, they just didn't really gel with Lyta and that was fine, and then they became the most popular thing in the world and she's very annoyed that it's all people seem to talk about and she's tired of trying to explain that she just thinks all the characters are poorly written and only passably acted so she's start to say that the reason she hates it is because there isn't enough homo-eroticism or socialism.

Millionaire's Row in the Clutches, fuck them millionaires and fuck their terrible houses, modernist architecture is a crime and this minimalist bullshit should be legally allowed to be set on fire

Gin

bugs, she knows that it's not cool to say that when there are various insectoid beings around but the amount of legs and hair they have is deeply unnerving to her

the fact that Aeth seems to be oblivious to the fact that Lyta wants to make out with them so hard

[thefreckledone]

Pompeii Chapter 54

Sakura watched the changing colors of the leaves as she continued driving, enjoying the chance to zone out. There were so many things competing for her attention: her job, her roommates, the upcoming election; it was nice to have this time to herself. When she first started this commute, she’d seen it as a hassle, a waste of time.

Now?

Now it was the only chance Sakura had to think in peace and quiet.

She kept her thoughts light and loose, choosing not to ruminate on her anxieties and doubts. Instead, she completed her long drive home in easy, blissful silence.

Sakura climbed out of the car and grabbed a few packages from the back seat, smiling to herself. There was a secondhand store near the clinic where she worked and she had found quite a treasure trove. 

“Sakura!” Zaku exclaimed, hastily hopping down from the fourth floor of their home.

Sakura watched, not even flinching at the heavy thud. She was used to the reckless abandon with which her roommates maneuvered themselves, even though it drove the doctor within her absolutely insane. “Hey Zaku!” she greeted in turn, accepting the arm he threw over her shoulder without complaint. “How were things here?”

“Same old, same old,” Zaku replied. “A couple of fights broke out and were resolved pretty quickly. Ashura and Indra’s spar got a bit out of hand and they destroyed one of the walls. Yamato repaired it without problem, good as new.”

Sakura frowned slightly, brows puckering. “They don’t usually roughhouse so much.”

Sakura could feel Zaku’s shrug through the arm around her shoulders. “I think they got a bit antsy because you stayed at the clinic overnight. No one outright said anything but tensions were higher than usual today.”

Sakura shook her head. “There was an emergent case yesterday afternoon that lasted past clinic hours. By the time everything was stable, I was too tired to drive home safely.”

“I know,” Zaku said. “I’m not chastising you, Sakura. Though you do know that any of us would have been willing to come by and pick you up.”

Sakura snorted, ducking her head against his shoulder. “I’ve seen you drive. I don’t trust any of you behind the wheel of a vehicle. And I wasn’t in the right headspace for the less conventional methods of travel that each of you offer.” She paused, clearing her throat. “How are you, Dosu, and Kin doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the news has picked up and started circulating stories of Orochimaru and his apparent activities. Are you concerned at all?”

Zaku rubbed at his neck, over the mark left on him by a childhood of experiments. “I don’t believe them. It’s just another tactic of fearmongering to try and score votes in the election. Orochimaru isn’t active. He can’t be. We’d know.”

Sakura watched him, wary. “You’re sure?”

“Sakura, the seal isn’t even active. Orochimaru isn’t active, at least in Pompeii. We’d know. Trust me.”

“I do,” Sakura replied, regarding him with sincerity.

Zaku hummed, dropping the matter to peer over her head instead. “So what’s this you got in your arms?” he asked, squeezing her slightly before releasing her fully. Zaku swept the stack of boxes away from her. “Parcheesi? Monopoly?” He sounded out the words with uncertainty, mangling the pronunciations. “Are these items of summoning from the other Planes? I have never heard of the entity Parcheesi, but the name is similar to those from the Plane of Limbo.”

Sakura paused, fighting to contain the peals of laughter that threatened to overwhelm her. She succumbed to the urge, releasing full-bodied, belly-aching laughter. Her legs wobbled and she leaned her weight against Zaku, trusting him. When she first met him, he was thin, malnourished, barely surviving off the land. Now, his limbs were strong and steady as he kept her propped up.

“Alright, I’ll bite; what are these things?” Zaku asked once Sakura reclaimed herself and took half of the games from him.

“These are board games,” Sakura said. “Tonight we will have all of the unhealthy snacks, play a ton of board games, and watch some terrible, hilarious horror movies. If we don’t wake up tomorrow with a sugar hangover then we did it wrong.”

“Ah, I have heard of these board games!” Zaku said, looking a mixture of proud and excited. “They play them sometimes in the shows I watch. Sakura, are we performing a friendship rite!”

Sakura giggled at his phrasing. “Well yes, I suppose you could call it that. Friendships rise and die on the board of Settlers of Catan.”

“Oh and we can get Sai to make kettle corn!” Zaku said, nudging Sakura toward their home. “C’mon, c’mon, let’s get started!”

Sakura chuckled, feeling the weight of her exhaustion and responsibilities melt away in the face of Zaku’s excitement. “Alright, alright. Lead the way, Zaku.”

He bounded away ahead of her, yelling out for the rest of their roommates. Sakura followed at a slower pace, unsurprised to find everyone situated in the common room by the time she arrived.

“So Zaku said something about ‘board games,’” Yamato said, standing to greet her and take the boxes from her hands. “I’m afraid I am not very familiar with the concept.”

“Huh,” Sakura murmured. “I thought you might be the only one who would. Did you not play board games with the Senju?”

Yamato shook his head, following Sakura as she headed into the pantry to rifle for snacks. “I wasn’t allowed to play with the Senju.” His mouth curled with disdain. “Hashirama and Tobirama did not want me to ‘spread Orochimaru’s perversions.’ I did observe the Senju play Sorry quite often. They enjoyed the irony of built-in insincere apologies.”

Sakura snorted, shaking her head. “Why does that not surprise me?” She turned to Yamato, assessing him for a moment before placing a hand on his arm. “I’m glad we will have a chance to make some better memories about board games tonight.”

Yamato’s frown eased into a soft smile as he regarded Sakura in turn. “I am forever thankful for whatever good fortune there is in this world that allowed my path to cross with yours.”

Sakura’s breath caught in her throat as she held Yamato’s gaze, the intensity of his eyes drawing her in. She leaned forward, hand tightening on his arm to brace herself. Yamato lifted his free hand, carding his fingers through her hair. Sakura rolled up onto her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She pulled away, flushing at the awe she saw lingering in the depths of his eyes. Sakura cleared her throat, smoothing her hand down his chest as she broke eye contact. She didn’t think she could withstand everything she could and could not read in his gaze.

“You know that I’m thankful too, right?” Sakura said, desperate to make sure he understood. She knew how little he valued himself and she wanted him to know the truth. “This relationship goes two ways. Having you in my life...I could not imagine my life without you. You are so integral to where I am now; who I am. Your presence in my life is as much a blessing to me as mine is to yours.”

“Sakura,” Yamato said, voice thick as he caught her around the waist and drew her near. He ran his other hand through her hair, cupping the back of her head as he angled her face up to his. Sakura didn’t dare breathe as she held his eyes, entranced. “I-”

“Sakura!” Ashura called, voice reverberating through the pantry. “Where are you? Kin is cheating!”

“Am not!” Kin yelled back. “Sakura, Ashura is being an asshole!”

Sakura and Yamato stared at each other for a moment, silent, before bursting into laughter. They drew away from each other reluctantly and returned to gathering snacks. 

“I’ll be there in a moment!” Sakura shouted. “Try to resolve the situation like adults!”

“Fat chance of that,” Yamato said. “This bunch is more competitive and bloodthirsty than any of the Fae Courts, the Senju included.”

“Oh gods,” Sakura said, going pale.

Yamato watched her for a moment, snickering. “You didn’t think this through did you?”

“Listen, I’m a veteran of the Great Spoons War of `11; I’m used to competition.” Sakura chewed her lip. “I just didn’t contemplate giving beings who are used to actual war and battle a new method to flaunt their skills.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh boy.”

Yamato hip-checked her, grinning when she stumbled before righting herself. “We’ll have fun. Stop worrying.”

“Alright, alright,” Sakura sighed. “Time to face the music.”

0The board games actually go over better than Sakura expected. While there are moments when things get out of hand (i.e., Ashura setting Kin’s hair on fire; Dosu making everyone’s ears pop), everyone really enjoyed the games. Some enjoyed them a bit too much, but those who weren’t as into the games had the Harry Potter marathon to watch instead.

Sakura was sprawled out on her stomach on the floor, legs tangled with Indra’s as they played Settlers of Catan. Yamato was a surprisingly ruthless conqueror and Kin was a late blooming upstart who threatened to topple his reign. Sakura was just scrambling to stay relevant in the game. 

“This is not how the game of conquest plays out on the battlefield,” Indra said grumpily, scooting closer to Sakura.

“Really,” Sakura drawled. “It didn’t consist of rolling dice and earning sheep?”

Indra knocked his knee against her thigh. “I’m serious,” he said, though the joke eased the pucker of a pout from his face. “Conquest was all about strategy and meticulous planning. Not luck.”

“There was a little bit of luck involved,” Ashura chimed in from the table where he arm wrestled with Dosu. That had been a well-placed suggestion from Yamato to keep them from roughhousing.

Indra rolled his eyes. “Maybe for you, but mother and I actually planned out the conquest of Pompeii.”

Sakura rolled slightly, regarding Indra fully. “Conquest implies someone to conquer. Who was in Pompeii before you?”

“It wasn’t really a who,” Indra said. “In those days, the primordial forces were much more active. Their magics were young and vibrant and...alive perhaps? Not sentient by any means, but alive in its own fashion. The land defended itself from intruders. To live upon it, to be accepted by its magics, the land had to be conquered. So that is what we did.”

“You and the heroes who accompanied the Maiden,” Sakura said.

“Yes, my mother,” Indra replied, eyes softening as he reminiscenced.

“Did she...did she die in the conquest for Pompeii?” Sakura asked hesitantly, taking his hand.

“No,” Indra said, mouth firming in a scowl. He clung to her hand, folding his fingers through hers. “No, that came later. Pompeii was poisoned and turned upon its inhabitants. To save us, to save Pompeii, my mother made the most difficult choice, the final choice.” He sighed, squeezing her hand. “She didn’t even give us a chance to say goodbye. She knew we would’ve done everything in our power to stop her.”

“I’m so sorry Indra,” Sakura said, hearing the raw edge to his voice. Though it had been centuries, millenia even, since his mother’s passing, Sakura could tell he was nowhere near over it. “Death is always hard, especially when you aren’t allowed to say goodbye.”

Indra looked away, clearing his throat. “In any case, the conquest of Pompeii was a slow, steady build, a subtle masterpiece of tactics. Nothing like this drivel.”

“Catan isn’t ‘drivel.’ You’re just being a sore loser,” Kin said with a roll of her eyes.

Sakura felt Indra’s legs tense like he was preparing to pounce and she opened her mouth to deescalate the situation, when the doorbell rang.

Everyone turned to Sakura.

“Did any of you invite people over?” she asked, untangling herself from Indra to stand.

“Who would we have to invite?” Kin asked.

Sakura hummed, picking her way through the other bodies and scattered snacks toward the door. She wasn’t surprised when Sai sidled up behind her, offering silent support and protection should it be needed. Nevermind the fact that anyone with ill-intentions towards members of the home could not even enter the property.

Sakura checked the eyehole, blanching when she realized who was on the other side.

She hastily removed the charms and locks on the door, throwing it open to greet Tsunade.

“Sakura,” Tsunade greeted, crossing her arms. “May I come in?”

“I’ll step out,” Sakura said, nodding to Sai. He stepped back into the house, leaving Sakura alone with Tsunade. Sakura moved to lounge on the patio furniture, inviting Tsunade to join her. Tsunade took a seat gracefully, keeping her eyes trained on Sakura. “What brings you by this evening, Tsunade?”

“You’ve learned since you’ve arrived here,” Tsunade said.

“I beg your pardon,” Sakura replied, nonplussed by the non sequitur. 

“You’ve wised up to the schemes of others. Once, you would have invited me inside without hesitation. Now, you refuse to let outsiders in, preserving the natural protections erected by lack of invitation. It is wise.”

Sakura frowned, a pang ringing clear in her heart as she contemplated the woman she once was when she arrived in Pompeii. She missed parts of that woman, the kindnesses she could afford before all of the betrayals. But Sakura knew she couldn’t go back to who she once was and, truth be told, she did not wish to. “Pompeii changes people, Tsunade, as I am certain you well know. Why are you here this evening?”

Tsunade huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Much more direct than when we first met. I’m not sure if I appreciate it or not.”

Sakura shrugged. “I care little for your appreciation. I have not the time to worry for the thoughts of others.”

“So I see,” Tsunade replied, something similar to respect threading through her tone. She sighed, turning her gaze to the open night sky. “In any case, I am here to ask a favor of you.”

Sakura hummed to indicate that she was listening.

“Have you been paying attention to the election?” Tsunade asked, keeping her eyes skyward.

“How could I not?” Sakura asked bitterly. “This emergency election is inadvertently the result of my fight with Kaguya.”

Tsunade laughed slightly. “I’m afraid you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit. Certainly, your battle in the forest was the impetus that removed Minato from office, but it was not the catalyst. Minato has a history of wanton negligence; it was only a matter of time before he was deposed.”

“Yet his supporters have submitted a new candidate in his place,” Sakura said, leaning back to regard the night sky as well. It was easier to speak such harsh truths while she contemplated something cool and distant. “And Itama seems to be gaining ground rapidly.”

“It is hard to displace the centuries of intrigue and politics that put the Senju at the top,” Tsunade said. “Even an incredible event like you striking down Kaguya is not enough to remove the claws of the Senju from their hold on Pompeii and its people.���

Sakura raised a hand to her throat, tracing over her scars there. “So, in your eyes, it was all for nought?”

“Not at all,” Tsunade said, startled as she redirected her eyes to Sakura. She cleared her throat, looking away again. “What you did...it changed the course of Pompeii, the course of history, irrevocably. Kaguya has lingered as a bad taste over the supernatural world for millennia. Sakura, you are the reason there is an influx of visitors and residents moving to Pompeii. You are the first God-Killer since the early years, when everything was chaos and destruction. There is no denying that your actions will have long lasting consequences.”

“You believe that Itama will win the race?” Sakura asked. “Despite the fact that he is such an obvious sock-puppet for his siblings?”

“Was not Minato the same?” Tsunade countered. “You were not here for his initial election, but I was. It was the exact same rhetoric that Itama now uses, the same fear-mongering that won him the seat in the first place. History repeats and the citizens of Pompeii are too myoptic to realize it.”

“So you think Itama will win,” Sakura said.

“It is a distinct possibility,” Tsunade replied. “It’s more likely than I would care to admit.”

“That’s why you’re here today,” Sakura said, satisfied that she figured it out.

“It is. Itama, despite all the evidence laid at the feet of Pompeii’s citizens, is a strong candidate. People take comfort in that which they know and they know already what they would receive with a Senju in charge.”

“You’re Senju yourself,” Sakura couldn’t help but point out. “Why not couch your election with your family name?”

“I’ve long been separated from the Senju name,” Tsunade replied. “I chose to pursue the path of witchery, turning my back on the Fae heritage that was mine by birthright. I could no more use the Senju name than you could.”

“So why approach me about the election?” Sakura asked. “I do not have a family name that holds any clout.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Tsunade said with a smirk. “You may not hail from any known clan, but the title of ‘God-Killer’ holds more sway than you may think.”

“But that title isn’t even a sure thing,” Sakura said. “There are some who already doubt the events that unfolded in the woods.”

“They are fools,” Tsunade said. “And they will know. Soon.”

Sakura turned to stare at her. “What are you asking of me?”

“I would have you endorse me, explicitly and publicly,” Tsunade said. “Some of Pompeii has thrown your hat in the ring as a contender; your word is important to them. They will likely throw their vote behind whoever you yourself choose. To ensure that Itama does not take the mayorship, I need your support.”

Sakura swallowed. She had a feeling that this might have been what Tsunade was fishing for and yet… “I’m not sure I can,” Sakura said, caressing her scars. “I don’t want to get involved in this election. Tensions are so high...I do not know if I can withstand another battle.”

“You are already involved,” Tsunade said with a hard voice, unable to show sympathy. “Your toppling of Kaguya is what landed Minato out on his ass; your actions tipped the scale. The people of Pompeii are outraged in your name; you are a deciding factor in this election whether you like it or not.” Tsunade stood. “You may not wish to support me; hell, I’d understand if you don’t, but you must choose someone. You must endorse someone or it is probable that Pompeii will fall to Senju rule once more.” Tsunade’s lips twisted. “And I doubt you would care for the treatment you’d receive from them.”

Sakura watched as Tsunade took her leave, an acrid taste coating her tongue.

[somewhere-in-the-dungeon]

Day is a vestigial mode of time measurement

Prelude and definitions

There are a lot of ways to play tabletop RPGs.

Somebody out there is nodding their head, thinking about D&D 3.5 and 5e and Pathfinder and maybe even E6, but we can go broader. Some tables run entirely oneshots, games with no recurring characters from week to week. Some tables stick with one ruleset the entire time they’re together, others swap rules after each campaign, still others swap rules half a dozen times in a single story arc. Some tables are comprised of close friends and family, others of strangers who don’t interact apart from the game. Lately though, I’ve been thinking about one style of play in particular that I know a lot of people highly value: Indefinite duration, bounded, high-context campaigns in tables with low to negligible turnover and frequent regular sessions.

I just threw out a lot of jargon there and frankly half of that jargon are terms I’ve only really seen myself use, so what do I mean?

Indefinite duration games don’t know how long they’re going to last. They can’t tell you they’ll be done by June 16th, or after fifteen sessions.

Bounded games do actually (hypothetically) have a planned end. Some bounded games never actually reach their intended end, and all games eventually stop even if they’re unbounded. This is easiest to see in the shape of the arcs- take Avatar: The Last Airbender, which (from practically the first episode!) sets up a clear goal for the protagonists and has a discernible beginning, middle and end. If AtLA had gotten canceled after the first season, there would be a clear sense of something missing. Buffy The Vampire Slayer on the other hand could probably have run indefinitely, and Supernatural looks like it plans to.

High Context games are hard to explain to an outsider, as each session interrelates to the next. Marvel Netflix shows and the webserial Worm are high context- a random episode of Jessica Jones, shown to someone who hasn’t seen any others, makes relatively little sense because its character arcs are built up over many prior episodes. The TV show The Twilight Zone and the Redwall books are low context: sit down to any individual example of those, and you’ll be able to understand what’s going on just fine as there’s no connecting thread between them. High context games almost always require...

Low Turnover tables, where the same faces are there every session, and when a player joins that player is usually in for the long haul. Introducing new characters usually takes a few sessions or more to integrate into the group, and there’s almost always a unique story reason for them to join. A player leaving a low turnover table is usually given a grand sendoff if the departure can be predicted in advance, or becomes a strange plot hole if the departure is sudden.

Frequent sessions is a somewhat fuzzy term. Here, I’m using it to mean sessions that happen every week.

Regular sessions happen at the same time and day, like every friday night or every sunday morning.

Advantages

There are a lot of advantages to this setup. Bounded and indefinite games grant the GM a grand canvas on which to write their story; the tabletop versions of Lord of the Rings, Worm, and the Wheel of Time are all expansive tales that would not work if their length was constrained or their endings neutered. (A game can be long but still have a definite duration- I could design a campaign to run for exactly five hundred sessions- but I don’t think J. R. R. Tolkien could have told you from the start how many pages he would need for the Lord of the Rings. The tale, as they say, grew in the telling.) Characters can undergo great changes, and corruption or redemption can be woven into the story subtly.

High context and low turnover means that you can drop details into the early parts of the game and pay them off later in ways that would be blatant and obvious if done over the course of a single session. It is a strange experience to look back from Mount Doom and realize how far we are from the shire, and it is strange to return to Brockton Bay as Gold Morning rises.

Frequent sessions are needed both to keep the events of the story fresh in your player’s minds and to allow reaching the end of such a story- I would roughly estimate that the Exalted game that I was part of involved around three hundred sessions, played over the course of seven years! If it was once a month instead of once a week, we would have taken twenty five years to cover the same ground. Finally, if you are going to play every week, then it can be convenient to pick a day and time then stick to it, rather than renegotiating four or five schedules every week.

Disadvantages

The primary disadvantage is that this is an incredibly fragile setup.

When you are planning games over the course of nearly a decade, you will find the lives of the people involved change. The Exalted game of this form I was in started in the early years of my bachelor’s degree; we all graduated and scattered across four or five different states. Gaming online helps with distance, but people get married (granted, that one’s less of a problem if players marry each other or the GM) or change jobs (we lost a player to exhausting manual labor) or just change tastes. In sufficiently high context games, these changes are really hard on the game: A reveal near the end may be unintelligible or worse, unimportant to players who weren’t there in that college apartment five years ago when this all started. Missteps and gaps are hard to recover from.

You will also find the vagarencies of system will be a problem. In a long enough run, all outliers will happen eventually. Even if no players drop out, a string of terrible rolls can kill important characters. You may even come to find that every single original character has fallen and been replaced. Can the system even handle that much play and advancement? (D&D has a few shift changes between level 1 and level twenty, and then it just starts getting weird. A level 60 Wizard is essentially an incoherent concept in 3.5.) Errata will be released for your game: do you adopt it? What if an entire new edition of the system is released? Updating Dresden Files to Fate Core is perhaps sensible, Exalted 2e to 3e is a judgement call, but would D&D 4e to 5e make any sense?

Stories (at least in the western tradition) have beginnings, middles, and ends. Sub arcs of such a campaign can be longer than entire storylines in a shorter game, providing valuable opportunities to practice, but the fact remains that I’ve run more complete games of Paranoia than I’ve run complete games of Exalted. Practice is valuable, and long form games are hard for a GM to practice and perfect. Players also gain experience, and may find that a character has resolved their story or that they wish to make a new, more complex character.

This is hard, is what I’m saying.

Solutions

I’ve finished (. . .ish) one game like this where I was a player, and am moving into the end steps of another I’m running. I’m contemplating starting a new one once the game I’m running finishes. One of the greatest GMs I know swears by this format, and doesn’t want to do anything else. As hard a problem as this is, I would like to find solutions. Some issues can be solved by relaxing one of the requirements, but we’ll assume for now that these are ironclad.

Where do you get your players? Perhaps one of the more valuable things I get from occasionally running one-shots or short-throw games is finding new players, who I can evaluate and then consider for future longer games. It’s not just what they’re like while playing, but how often they show up to games or how they interact with other players. Crosstalk can also be a sneaky way to onboard players: Players talk about the games they’re in, and my S.O.’s Monsterhearts table has heard plenty of details about our Exalted and D&D games. That can be a place to draw new players who are excited about your game and who are already informed as to what’s been going on in your campaign.

Gaps and missed sessions are probably going to happen, but you can minimize the damage they do. Consider: what do you do if a single player can’t make it? If you shrug your shoulders and cancel for that week, you preserve the expectation and pressure on each player- but you also leave everyone else with an empty saturday night, one that perhaps they wish the could have made plans for. This can compound: Someone has a wedding to attend this week, and then next week you’re not in the right headspace to GM, then the next week someone’s power is out, and the week after that you find that a player has a date because “I didn’t think we’d wind up gaming that night.” The question isn’t “do I want to do this other thing or attend the game this week” it’s “how much do I value the other thing times the odds it actually happens, vs how much do I value the game times the odds it actually happens.” If the odds get bad enough, your game can be the highlight of your player’s week and still lose out.

Letting everyone know as early as possible is good, but you can also mitigate this by having something else to do that night; run a oneshot or a side campaign, play a videogame together or some Settlers of Catan, or even a social night where you sit around and shoot the breeze. Anything to prevent the train of thought that goes “oh, I guess Bob isn’t around so we aren’t gaming. Darn. Well, I guess I’ll spend the night alone- kinda wish I’d said yes to that cute date. Next time, maybe!” If you do this well enough, you can actually add people: In high school my table ate pizza and played Halo friday night if we didn’t have the numbers to play RPGs, and we wound up inviting a guy in the neighborhood over when we did. We found that he actually penciled in gaming at my place to his schedule every friday, and as long as he had that time set aside anyway did he want to learn to roll some dice? (He did, and still does, and is part of my monday night table.)

On that subject, how do you handle it when someone cancels? It’s best to give everyone as much information as you can as early as you can, because it lets them take advantage of the gap and prevents them feeling like they’re “losing” a night. (This is especially important if you game on a hotly contested timeslot: most people don’t have a lot competing for their Tuesday evenings, but a Friday Night is the centre of a lot of people’s social lives.) If you want that though, I think you need to be kind and understanding when you get that cancellation: if you get angry at people for missing, then they delay longer and longer to tell you (either in case circumstances change, or just putting off that anger) and you can’t give other people early warning. You probably don’t want people to come to view your game as an obligation, but feeling punished for lack of attendance can cause that to happen.

So, you’ve arranged things so that whether there’s a game or not, everyone looks forward to Sunday Night every week, and people tell you a couple of weeks in advance when they aren’t going to be able to be there. Why are your players hoping your game does run? In writing, there’s an idea of “the page turner” where each situation leads to a question of what happens next, and the reader can get sucked into wanting “one more chapter!” This effect can also be recognized in videogames (“one more turn!” *birdsong outside* “Gah, it’s morning!”) and even TV shows. I think it’s possible to make this happen in tabletop games. If you’ve got a tight plot full of twists and intrigue, you can get it the same way you do in writing. If you’ve got a mechanical system that’s genuinely *fun* to engage in, that can be a great too. (My Blades in the Dark table would often ask for a second heist right after we finished the ‘session’, because they wanted that next piece of Turf they’d just unlocked access to or because c’mon, we just need two more Rep to go up a Tier!)

We can do better than that though. I think a seriously underrecognized source of danger in long-running campaigns is a weak middle, where you spend a couple of sessions in a row building up or setting tone and it’s only afterwards that players look back and see the unfolding tale as compelling. A question I ask myself after each night as part of my usual evaluation is “what made this session great?” The kinds of answers vary depending on the group and the system, but if there isn’t an answer then that’s the sort of thing I try very hard to fix! When I sit down to plan a session, I think about something cool that I can make sure is in there. Don’t get me wrong, ‘filler’ episodes do have an important purpose sometimes- they connect with the day to day parts of your character’s lives, they let you sneak in setup and Chekov’s Guns, they give a chance to roleplay and let characters bounce off each other, heck Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish Granting Engine is basically a game built around filler episodes- but keep your eye on the ball. What do your players love doing, or love telling stories about afterwards? Is there a reason you can’t do more of that next session?

I know when the long Exalted game that closed up recently was shifting into endgame, a big reveal came that. . . well, it landed, and we noticed, but it took far longer to percolate and had to be spelled out more than I know our GM wanted. The pacing of tabletop games, even played every week, is different than the pacing of a book. I read Worm (a simply enormous web serial) over the course of years as each week a couple of chapters were released, and the twist caught me by surprise. I know someone who read it over the course of a month or so, because they got into it once it had already concluded and they saw it coming a mile ahead of time. If a player gets blindsided by something that was telegraphed and set up, pause, and consider whether it was set up four years ago. Something I’ve taken to doing to combat this is writing down, at the end of each session, a paragraph about what happened. 

I’ve found this is helpful for me as a GM, but also really helpful for the players as we resume after a break. (Plus, it’s cool to read!) Even if you have a full log of what’s happened (a text log because you play via chat, or a video archive because you record sessions) people can scan the summary faster than they can look through an entire log. This helps catch new people up, this is a good tool for clarifying my thoughts as a GM, this is a neat place to screw with your players (someday, I am going to run a Cosmic Horror long form game, and my players are going to trust the summaries I’ve written, and I am going to weave an elegant lie into that record, and this is going to work even though I said I was going to do this right here.) and hey, you can even end each summary with a question that hypes up what happens next.

Compromises

If your vision of how you want to run your game is absolutely how your games must be run- Indefinite duration, bounded, high-context campaigns in tables with low to negligible turnover and frequent regular sessions- then this is where we part ways for a bit. Do a search for “concluding thoughts” and we’ll catch back up below. If you think you could budge a bit on those requirements though, or if you just want to see me go through the exercise, so be it, and fall on. I think there are tremendous gains to be made by removing even one of these requirements.

Finite Duration. I’ve been dating my S.O. for six years now. We’ve been asked more times than I can count “so, when is he going to pop the question?” and I’ve been deflecting the question with less and less grace and good humour as things go on. The truth is, I think about swearing a holy vow to be with them “til death do us part” and I think about value drift, and I think about how I am actually deeply transhumanist and how I plan to live to see the last star go out, and I think about the fact that sweet light there are seven billion people on this planet and I find around a billion of them to be hot, and about how zero and one are not probabilities, and I can’t bring myself to do it. And then I think about how I do want to be with them in five years, and in ten, and how I do want to settle down and find a house that fits us both and raise children and see them off and still love each other, and how I could swear to be with them for that many years.

My saturday night D&D group just fell apart, and for a moment towards the end I thought about swearing, with all the force of an oath, to be there and ready every single saturday until it concluded in an attempt to forestall this. And I thought, very clearly, “that could mean never having a weekend vacation or a saturday night date for the rest of my life, you know how this GM likes long stories.” So I didn’t commit, and maybe I should have. But if I could have looked and seen an end date, I would have felt much better about making that commitment. A finite duration campaign can draw a stronger and more reasoned commitment than an indefinite one.

Unbounded. You know what’s a great book series? Redwall. And I’m not just saying that because I’m a sucker for castles and badass swords. (Though ya know, those are both great.) One of the great things about Redwall is it could have kept going forever. A Redwall campaign could go arc after arc, and have clean places to step out or step back in, and still come together. Someday I want to run a game with the progression like Redwall-> Mossflower -> Martin the Warrior -> The Legend of Luke and it will be awesome. You know what else is great? Mythbusters. I mean, every episode works all on its own, and that makes it really tempting to binge watch. That feeling of no commitment that works out to being stronger than any promise of a sixteen season masterpiece.

An Unbounded game provides a real bulwark against mid-act duldroms. If every session or every arc is going to be basically like this, then everyone involved can get their acts together about making “basically like this” be awesome. One of my greater lightbulb moments came from discussing Star Wars, when someone pointed out that you can in fact kill Darth Maul one night, General Grievous the night after, and Count Dooku after that and there’s nothing stopping you from lining up another kickass saber dual and sith lord every session after that. We don’t need to spend a whole session talking about how much we hate sand.

Low-Context. I wanted to come up with something for everything on this list, but honestly, just swapping to low-context and not changing anything else doesn’t seem to give you any benefit that I can see. It might be prefered by some people, but more often high-context is an advantage you get from the other components being in place.

High Turnover. If you have solutions in place for maintaining the high-context capabilities of your players even with high turnover, then high turnover (or even the capacity for it!) can help ameliorate the issues of this general form of campaign marvelously. If it is straightforward and not at all unexpected for a player to drop out for a few months and then resume, or for a new player to join for a while before leaving, then you can give each player the benefits of a finite campaign while still reaping the benefits of having long timescales or ongoing plots. Taken to the extreme, a game like Blades in the Dark can operate with a completely new roster of players every single night and still work, the adventures of the crew as a whole only glimpsed in part by each player but still represented in the tapestry of stories they tell. It offers a way for a table to mix and match expectations- perhaps two players are always there every night, and the other two seats are filled by a rotating array of sidekicks and accomplices. (This is fitting for the superhero genre, but of course the same format can be used by anything from pirates to westerns to a dungeon crawl.)

Infrequent Sessions. Momentum in storytelling is important, but so are the many other demands on most of our time. A full time job, chores and appointments and exercise and socializing outside of gaming and any number of things eat into our free time. Heck, sometimes even if you love the table and love the game you want a break for a week. Longer gaps between games give more space to the other things in our lives, and they also make sharing high priority timeslots much easier. Friday Night Magic has a lot of overlap with the D&D crowd and a schedule that suggested playing every Friday might eventually compete with that- but offer every other Friday, and suddenly people can have both the things they want in their lives. Just by alternating weeks, you can take the pressure off by opening up that timeslot for other things some of the time to things that can’t or won’t move.

And you know what? I think there’s a lot of unexplored design space around very infrequent sessions. I got into a brief discussion last year around an important ritual I attend exactly once a year, where someone pointed out that part of its special feeling came from scarcity and a once-a-week event wouldn’t be able to capture that. They were right, and I agreed at the time that an RPG wouldn’t be capable of replicating an emotional space. Having thought about it more, I find I want to test that. About once a month me and my significant other go out on a nice date, dressed up just a little, and luxuriate in each other’s company- you know, the company that is lying around on the couch watching TV or reading a book the other twenty nine days of the month. If we went out on the town every weekend, it would stop being special. 

In my scheming ambition, I think about what a once-a-year game of Ten Candles would feel like, or how about setting aside a weekend twice a year to get together with my polycule and play through Emily Boss’s Romance Trilogy? Those aren’t high context games and they lack the kind of continuity that these games treasure I suppose, so how about a campaign of Nobilis, played only every Autumn and Spring Solstice? Even on a more mundane atmosphere, Ars Magica is mildly infamous for the most relevant timescale being Seasons- I think I would enjoy a game of Ars that met once a Season, and that advanced in step with the passing of real years.

Momentum is important. So is gravitas.

Irregular sessions. “Every tuesday night” can actually be hard to schedule around. It’s great on paper, and it has the virtue of simplicity, but it turns out sometimes dear old aunt Maude is visiting for the first time in years and she’ll be arriving Tuesday evening, or it’s Tuesday and you really want to game but your boss is hounding you about getting that report filed by tomorrow morning’s meeting or else.  Holidays wreck gaming schedules for that exact reason- a whole avalanche of important arrivals and departures and preparations. I think Irregular sessions actually aren’t as hard to arrange as the reputation suggests. Google Calendar, Doodle.com, and old fashioned spreadsheets can make picking a day relatively painless if you do it at the start of the week. Maybe you’ll settle on the same day week after week- but this gives a built in place to check in with the rest of the group if something comes up and you’ll be out of town that day, without feeling like you’re dislodging everyone’s expectations. Or you can be even less formal, and whenever the GM is in the mood they can ping everyone via a group text or a messaging app with a simple question: “Hey, I wanna game tonight, who’s free at six tonight?” Who knows, maybe you’ll find you can actually play more often than you thought!

Concluding Thoughts

There it is. A detailed description of a particular approach to games, some thoughts on issues that I have with that approach, and some plausible alterations that could be made. All along with waaay more words than any reasonable person would probably use on the subject.

There have to be a thousand variations on this hobby, and I believe all of them have something interesting to learn from. For those who love that big, sprawling game and can make it work, more power to you. As for me, I’m going to tinker, and I’m going to study, and maybe I’ll someday settle on that- but I doubt it.

I want to make it clear that I don’t think this kind of game is bad, but I think it might be incompatible with where I’m at these days. Maybe someday, when I have everything else settled and secured, I could return to it- but even then, I think I’d want to be at least one step away from it in a direction that gave an option for more freedom. For those who love this style, if you can, can you tell me what it is you love about it that wouldn’t survive a modification? What is it at the heart of your gaming style?

[haberdashing]

Day 19: Epistolary

This story is part of the Every Single Day challenge, where I am writing something every day in the month of January to raise money for charity. Donate to my fundraiser for no-kill cat shelter Cat Guardians here.

The story of cross-dimensional pen pals.

Dear Mary,

Hello there. It looks as though you have signed up for the pen pal program over in Dimension 31′C, is that correct? I am so excited to talk to somebody from another dimension- I was actually the first one here in 48\A to sign up, and now everything has finally been hooked up! What is your dimension like? I would be fascinated by anything you could tell me, honestly. Please write back as soon as possible!

Sincerely,

Reginald

Dear Reginald,

Yes, I signed up for the program. Glad to see it finally went through. It’s hard to know where to start. Everything seems ordinary, but is your ordinary and my ordinary the same thing? Only one way to find out!

They only gave out names, not any other information, I gather? Assuming so, let me introduce myself properly. I am Mary, I’m 32 years old, and I’m a veterinarian working in the college town of Fayetteville, Arkansas. My cats and I greet you! (Please tell me you know what cats are. Cats ought to be a universal constant.)

Hope all is well in your dimension- that feels so weird just to write, heh.

Sincerely,

Mary

Dear Mary,

Yes, I most certainly know what cats are, though I’ve never owned one myself- most unfortunately, I happen to be allergic.

I shall match your introduction with one of my own. I am Reginald, a 39-year-old librarian residing in Salem, North Carolina. I have no animals, so my own greetings will have to suffice.

All is well here, as far as I can tell.

Truth be told, I am not quite sure where to go from here with my writing. I have never been much of a correspondence-keeper, but I could not resist taking part in this grand experiment. Should I just tell you about my day? Today was a rather boring one, but then Sundays are often slow days for the library around here. Or should I ask more about your dimension? Do dinosaurs still roam the earth there? What about coelacanths, or dodos? Who won World War 2? Is Elvis still alive?

Hope this letter finds you well.

Sincerely,

Reginald

Dear Reginald,

That is indeed unfortunate. I suppose it’s a good thing that your only interaction with my cats will be through writing, then. No dander to trigger your allergies here. And your own greetings are certainly enough for me!

As for your questions... well, I don’t think anybody really knows what to do with writing here, given that it’s brand new and all, so you’re not alone there. Dinosaurs do not still roam the earth, though the thought of it made me laugh, so bravo for that. Dodos are extinct, too, but I looked it up and apparently coelacanths are still around here! Is that different, then? How exciting! The Allies won World War 2, and Elvis is not still alive, unless you follow some very untrustworthy tabloids. (I kid, I kid. Elvis is definitely dead. Don’t want to confuse you there.)

Today was a bit of a depressing day for me- I had to put a puppy to sleep today at work. I knew it was for the best, but it’s still a rough job. Still, I wouldn’t trade being a veterinarian for the world!

Best of luck and all that jazz,

Mary

Dear Mary,

Coelacanths are around in my dimension too, actually, though they were thought extinct for a long while, so I’m afraid that we did not in fact find any differences between our respective dimensions. Oh well. I suppose if it were that easy, we would lose all the fun of discovery.

I am sorry to hear about the puppy you had to put down, but you would know best- if it had to be done, it had to be done. My sympathies.

I had the day off today, so I went and saw Jaws in the theater. Have you seen it? Honestly, it was not my cup of tea- a bit too heavy-handed on the special effects, I think.

Best regards,

Reginald

Reginald,

I was disappointed to hear that we hadn’t found something, but in fact, reading further, I found that we have! In my dimension, the movie Jaws came out several decades ago, and has a number of sequels, none of which I’ve seen. Maybe you’re right about saving the fun of discovery for later- I’m excited just thinking about it!

(Now I may have to go back and actually watch Jaws. There are so many classic movies I just never got around to watching...)

-Mary

Dear Mary,

I believe that there has been a bit of miscommunication between us again. Jaws originally came out decades ago here, as well; what I saw was the recent remake of it. I greatly preferred the original- it’s a shame that so many of these modern movies are remakes or sequels or some other spin-off rather than film-makers working to create something truly original. In my opinion, classic movies are the way to go if you’re going to watch any films at all- they are, after all, classic for a reason.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Reginald

Reginald,

There has not been a remake of Jaws in my dimension, which is why I assumed you were talking about the old one. Finally, we found a dimensional difference! A shame it’s so... mundane, but I suppose that’s just how it goes. I suppose we might as well report it, minor as the difference may seem.

I’m tempted now to just list off a ton of recent movies and actors and such and see which ones you recognize, but... honestly, I’m not a huge pop culture person! I don’t get out to the movies very often, and I’m horrible at remembering actors’ names and who was in what and so on. I could just look them up, but that doesn’t sound like much fun.

What was fun was getting back together with a bunch of old college buddies last night! We played a bunch of board games, including a long, long game of Settlers of Cataan. (If you haven’t heard of that one, look it up- it’s not terribly well-known here, either, but it’s worth looking into, although you’ve gotta be in it for the long haul, especially with a competitive group like mine!)

Wishing you well,

Mary

Dear Mary,

Your dimension made the wiser choice there, then. The recent version of Jaws was just a big money pit as far as I’m concerned. It got very mixed reviews, so I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, but I shouldn’t have bothered.

I did have to look up that game you mentioned- we have it too, but here it’s spelled Settlers of Catan. Another difference, how exciting!

I wonder if there are any games we can play just through writing, since we cannot play board games together. I believe I’ve heard people play chess through letters, would you want to try that?

Best wishes,

Reginald

Reginald,

Trust me, my dimension has its fair share of horrible movie remakes. That’s part of why I rarely make it to the theater.

Interesting. I wonder what made them change the name by just one letter? I doubt there’s anything that would connect that to the lack of a Jaws remake. Are all these differences just random chance, then?

And to be perfectly honest, I never learned to play chess, and I have no interest in doing so by letter. I do want to keep in touch, maybe even play some other game of our own devising, but... not that one.

What else is new? See any more... interesting movies? Nothing much has happened here, except that I am sorely tempted to adopt this kitten I’ve been fostering. She gets along so well with the two I already own, and she’s just so CUTE, and... am I starting to become one of those crazy cat ladies? Well, even if I am, there are worse things!

-Mary

Reginald,

Did some wires get crossed? I haven’t gotten a response from you, and it’s been weeks since I sent my last letter. Did you get it? Please let me know if you got it- I know I rambled a fair bit, but you don’t have to address all that if you don’t want to, just stay in touch!

-Mary

Reginald,

Did I do something to offend you? If I did, I am truly sorry. I’ve talked with others who have pen pals, and they’ve had no trouble, so either it’s something specific to your dimension or you’re just downright ignoring me. Please write back.

-Mary

they’re coming

-R

Reginald,

Was that from you? I don’t understand. Tell me more.

-Mary

Reginald,

Please talk to me!

-Mary

Reginald,

...I understand what happened now. I am so, so sorry.

-Mary

[indiehangover]

There’s a secret world of tabletop gaming that many people aren’t aware of. Games like Monopoly, Risk, Life, and the slew of card games that can be played with a standard deck are solid games, don’t get me wrong, but there are as many different types of board games as there are video games. Light, quick games, heavy games that require loads of thinking, party games, cooperative games, games based almost entirely on luck, even solo games… Honestly, I could go on and on, just like Forrest Gump did with shrimp, but my point is this: out of all of the tabletop games that exist, Catan is one of the most well-known.

I’ve dipped my toes in those waters a bit myself: Smash Up lives up to its name due to its humor, Pandemic is infectious fun, and Takenoko is as much fun for us as it is for the panda eating a smorgasbord of colored bamboo. But it wasn’t until recently that I was able to explore Catan, and I’ve certainly learned why it’s earned a place on so many gamers’ shelves.

Title: Catan Developer: Exozet Publisher: Asmodee Digital Platform: Nintendo Switch Game Version: Final Review Copy: Provided by publisher Interface: Handheld Switch Console Available on Nintendo Switch

The island of CATAN ™ is an uninhabited land rich in resources for you to settle. Unfortunately, your opponents have the same plans.

Build settlements, roads and cities strategically to gain supremacy on CATAN! Some resources you have in abundance, other resources are scarce.

Trade resources wisely & skillfully to stack the odds in your favor and become the greatest settler of CATAN!

Catan is a resource management board game. That means pretty much exactly what it sounds like: players manage the accumulation, trade, and use of resources, and whoever does the best job wins! 3-4 players (AI or online human opponents) face off on a board full of various types of resources like lumber, ore, and grain. These resources are used to expand across the board, presenting players with access to more resources, obtaining victory points, and battling for different types of supremacy.

As someone who has never played Catan before, I was incredibly happy to have a brief tutorial to play. It managed to explain the most basic rules, but there were still some things that I was confused by once I started a game of my own. Luckily, the game does a terrific job of ramping up the difficulty and complexity: you begin with The First Island, a very basic map, and work your way through the base game’s three campaigns before entering into numerous campaigns in the Seafarers expansion (included free). I really loved the various ways the campaigns not only added new rules to learn, but they also messed with the board: one level puts most of the grain on islands you have to sail to, for example, and another allows you to alter the board itself as you reveal more of the map. I’ve got to admit, though, it was a bit funny that the one rule I was confused about – where you’re allowed to place a settlement – was missing part of the text in the almanac (digital in-game rulebook).

The biggest thing that took me a while to get used to was the absolute importance of setup. At the beginning of each match, players take turns setting up their first settlement, and you only have a chance of obtaining resources from hexes around them. I ended up failing one of the campaigns five times because I kept starting myself off in terrible places. Once I learned what all of the resources are used for and which ones were the most important, things got a lot easier. You can easily move the camera down and look at the “recipes”, and you can even pull up the menu to craft the various things any time. Heck, there aren’t even many things you can make: in the base game’s three campaigns there are only four combinations you need to worry about, and there are only five types of resources.

Once I fully grasped building and expanding, I was amazed by just how many ways there are to earn points. Whoever has the longest road gets 2 points, settlements and cities each give you points, and you can earn points through drawing cards via your army or just drawing a card that grants you a point. Some campaigns allow you to get points from settling on another island, and my favorite campaign includes treasure chests to loot. Not only are there various methods to gain points, but there are also various tactics for attaining resources as well! If your opponents claim the spots with the best types of resources, you can try to specialize in one or two others and claim a port that lets you trade one of them at a great price. I had a blast in one game amassing loads of wool and trading them 2:1 for anything else I needed, and since I practically had a monopoly on it, the AI players were offering all kinds of sweet trades. In another game, I built a huge armada of ships and used them to find the best resources on islands, settling down on the best ones while ruling the seas. Ticket to Ride players will also know the pain of having paths cut off by other players, which I may or may not have done a few times to mess with opponents…

The world of Catan is a colorful place, and the graphics really nail the tabletop vibe. Hexes actually look clunky and solid, and the pieces you lay down look real enough that one may try to pick them up (note: there are no touch controls, though, so you can’t no matter how hard you try). The hexes, cards, and UI are colorful and clear, allowing players to quickly see everything at a glance. I’m particularly grateful that all of the controls are shown on the screen at all times as well; at one point I didn’t play for a few days, and when I came back I forgot pretty much all of the controls. Finally, by using the right stick (the only control not shown), you can look around the table to get a peek at the build cost reminder card and the number of each type of piece you have left. As the campaigns get more and more advanced, and the victory point requirement to win gets higher, this becomes more and more important. Plus, come on, it’s just cool to see that stuff laid out as it would be in the tabletop version of the game instead of seeing it in a pause menu or something.

As for the system itself, Catan does a terrific job with the UI. Information is easily accessible, and games against AI have no time limits. Once you have a grasp of how everything works, it’s incredibly easy to lay down roads, build settlements, and trade with other players or the bank. I was worried when I saw that you could turn AI trades off that this would be like those old Monopoly video games where the AI would try to make ridiculous trades 500 times in a row while I beat my head against a wall, but that wasn’t the case at all. Trading with other players is much more strategic in Catan anyway: accepting a trade usually means getting at least one or two resources that you need, but it also means giving up a card an opponent needs for sure. But when you have lots of resources and don’t want anything no matter what an opponent is trading, skipping their trades takes mere seconds no matter how many attempts they make. My only wish for the UI is that it explained why you can’t do things when you try. For example, it took me a while to realize you have a limited number of pieces, so you can’t build a new settlement if you’ve used them all up. It also took a while to learn that cards you draw can’t be used right away, or where settlements can be placed. A simple popup that says “You can’t do this because (reason)” would’ve gone a long way. Oh, and for some reason, I’ve yet to get used to setting up trades: you press up to select which card(s) you want to trade and down on which card(s) you want to get from the trade. My brain refused to accept this concept, and even now I fumble at first each time.

While the game doesn’t allow you to play with local human opponents, it does allow for online play. I don’t have anyone to play with online, so I only tried the random player option, but I found opponents within less than a minute! The online match was fun, even though I got my butt kicked by someone of a way higher level (your level doesn’t give you any kind of advantage, it’s just for pride). As someone who has a crappy internet connection, I really loved that the AI opponents were just as fun to play against as the human opponents, even after playing dozens of matches. So many of the matches came down to the wire, and I managed to pull off numerous last-second wins. Not only that, there are three difficulty levels you can choose from, so people who have experience with the tabletop game can face off against very difficult AI and people like me who are new to the game can work their way up from the lowest difficulty.

While campaign levels require you to complete sets of levels before moving onto the next levels, you can dive into any campaign whenever you’d like from the Campaign menu. Not only can you select any of the campaigns, but you can also adjust all sorts of settings as well. For example, if I wanted to take my favorite campaign – one with treasure chests – and add a fourth AI player to it, I could. I could also raise or lower the victory point total (which adjusts the game far more than you might think), randomize the map, and more. Best of all, individual AI can be altered, so you can play against two easy AI and one hard one if you’d like. The game comes with three campaigns in the base game and fourteen in the included Seafarers expansion, and you can sort by the number of players (some campaigns are only available for three OR four players). Most important of all, though, pressing the left stick will let the game pick one randomly for you! Don’t worry though, if it selects a campaign you really don’t want to play, you can just press the left stick again!

Finally, the game has another expansion available via DLC: Cities & Knights. I didn’t get the DLC and haven’t tried it out, but I enjoyed Catan so much that I’ll almost certainly buy it (it’s only $5.99 anyway!). People who are familiar with the rules of Catan will learn how to play the digital version quickly, and for people like me who haven’t touched the game before, a half-dozen matches or so is all it takes to pick up the basics and learn the UI. It’s a game that’s fun to play over and over, especially when there are so many campaign setups and difficulty levels to face off against. It’s also perfectly portable, allowing you to save your progress anytime you want. I found this particularly useful when I lost track of time and the battery was about to die! Catan has also taught me that I want to purchase the physical game so I can play against my gal, and now that I’ve learned all of the rules from the digital version it’ll be easy to dive in! But most importantly of all, I now understand and share in the pure, unequaled hatred toward the robber and their foiling of my plans. Sure it’s a great way to balance the game and add stress to each roll of the dice, but he’s a jerk that always seems to know exactly when to strike!

#gallery-0-5 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-5 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Catan from @AsmodeeDigital and @exozet_games has arrived on the Nintendo Switch! Should this classic tabletop game settle onto your console, or will you lose half of your resources to the robber? Check out the review to find out! There's a secret world of tabletop gaming that many people aren't aware of. Games like Monopoly…

[gendermesenpai-blog]

5:38pm

Looks like I didn’t do an entry last night. Work was pretty busy-ish. I went through and added it up actually cus I was rolling nonstop most of the day and I wanted to see how much I did but I haven’t been using Strava to record my rides. So after adding it up it was only 7 drops but around 35 miles. Not bad. 

After work I went to Z&B’s, everybody was there including D’s weird brother who I once talked to at the deck for almost an hour, mostly about politics. I think he was trying to make Joe Dirt play through his shitty netbook connected to the TV but it never ended up happening. 

Tolerated them playing Settlers of Catan for a while until I got drunk, then they started setting up a game of Risk and I dipped. Irish goodbye’d the fuck outta there. Got home, smoked, fell asleep without doing shit. 

Started Uber Eats today. I’m proud of myself for managing to avoid app-based courier work for as long as I have. It’s exploitative and drives wages down for all messengers. But money is money and they approved my dumb ass so fuck it. Went online around 9:30 am while I was still in my house and immediately got sent a run. Ended up doing 3 total and clocking out at 11am cus it was starting to rain. 

Got home and realized I actually had an appointment with my therapist that I had forgotten to write down. Had to text her and ask what time. So I figured well shit, as long as I’m suited up in all my rain gear to go see her, might as well do a few more runs. So I saw her at 1 and was rolling again from 2 to around 4:30. 

Total for today was 7 drops in 3 hrs 45 min of online time. Around $40 dollars in just under 4 hours. Not terrible, not great. $40 is an 8th of weed, so there’s that. Total mileage according to the Uber app is around 11 mi, but that doesn’t include coming back into town after a drop or when you’re on your way to the pick up. It only counts the trip to the recipient. Also doesn’t include me rolling down to see the therapist without the app on, or back up to the house from my last drop. So I probably did more like 20-25. Legs feel a lil DOMSy. Kinda nice, we’ve been so slow the last couple months that doing 50 or 60 miles across yesterday and today feels really good. 

I’m reminded of how accomplished I felt when I first started doing those kind of numbers back in NY. Fitness was so new to me and I was so proud. I didn’t even know what DOMS was when I started lol. I had never worked out hard enough to feel it. Over time courier work has become a normal part of life so I don’t tend to put a lot of thought into how insane it is but occasionally I still manage to impress myself. This is a great confidence boost since my muscles have been feeling so weak lately and we have Valentine’s coming up next week. It will probably be our busiest day of the entire year. [nervous gay sounds]

What else. Talked to the therapist about bikes for most of our appointment today lol. Explained a bunch about my job, how fixed gear works, why some people ride brakeless and why I don’t, the difference between different kinds of skids, yada yada. She was like “I never realized riding a bike could be so complex” and I was just like “nooo it’s the simplest thing in the world” lol. Showed her a video from Instagram of one of the flower bois in NYC carrying what looks like 12-16 flower orders without a rack, all on his bag. On a brakeless track bike with BMX bars lol. I was just like yep, this is what we do. I can’t carry as many as him though. Or not that I can’t, I just would rather not lol. I’ve never done more than 6-7 before so Valentine’s will be very interesting.

At one point we were talking about hyper-vigilance, not sure how we got onto that but I admitted it was definitely something I deal with on a daily basis. I recalled the way I used to set up my room when I was an pre-adolescent/teenager, how I would never face my desk in such a way that my screen was visible to someone who had just walked in the door. My mother used to just barge into my room at any moment. So I would usually put the desk against the same wall as the door, with the screen angled away from the door, or I would put it on the opposite side but have my chair against the wall so the back of my monitor faces the door. 

I haven’t intentionally thought about that in years. It stopped as soon as I stopped living with my parents but I would always remember it whenever I was setting up my screens as an adult and just ignore it. Instead of being worried about people seeing my screen, I learned to set them up so the sunlight from the window doesn’t cause glare. I’m not one of those “oh let’s put a big sheet with celtic crosses on it over our window” kind of stoner. I like light, it’s good. I always feel prettier in the sun.

It’s only 6 and I’m so dead from those Uber runs lol. Ima just play some Pokemon and pass out. G’night <3

edit: lmao you can’t go to bed at 6pm, you haven’t even taken your estrogen yet you silly goose

[pat78701]

Why Sheryl Sandberg Decided To Speak Openly About Losing Her Husband

Nearly two years ago, Sheryl Sandberg poured 1,743 words of raw emotion into a Facebook post that essentially made everyone on the internet cry.

Her husband, Dave Goldberg, had died suddenly at the age of 47, not even 30 days earlier. The calendar marked the end of the traditional Jewish mourning period for spouses, but she hardly felt done with grief. Sandberg wasn’t even sure she would hit publish, the Facebook executive told HuffPost last week. She wrote feverishly, put it aside and went to bed.

The post was her desperate attempt to connect with friends and coworkers from whom she felt increasingly isolated in her mourning. “I woke up and thought, this is so bad. And I hit post,” she said.

The writing is pure heartbreak. Sandberg writes over and over about her sadness. About mothering her children while they screamed and cried in pain. “I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser,” she writes. “When tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning.”

Though she didn’t realize it at the time, Sandberg’s essay marked a clear tipping point in her journey back from the hell of a shocking loss. By opening up about her feelings, Sandberg was inviting others to support her ― including colleagues and friends who’d been unsure of what to say. The post offered guidance.

And that guidance formed the basis for Sandberg’s next project. Her latest book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy, out Monday, tackles a universal yet enduringly under-discussed subject: grief.

While her Silicon Valley peers have worked for years on technologies that would extend life, Sandberg’s project offers up a path to happiness based not on fantasies of immortality but on the reality of the sorrow of life itself.

At the time she first posted about Goldberg’s death, Sandberg had already returned to work at Facebook, where she’d been chief operating officer for nearly a decade. She was feeling increasingly lonely.

A notoriously outgoing and collaborative manager, she was surrounded by familiar colleagues and friendly faces. Yet, with the exception of her boss, Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg, no one at the office seemed to know what to say to her. 

“When I came back to work there was a real feeling of isolation,” she said. “It felt like no one was talking to me.... The chitchat ground to a halt. People looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Just a few years ago, Sandberg wrote Lean In, exhorting women to be ambitious, to ask for what they want, to be their full selves at work.  

“Losing Dave brought that home for me,” she said. “My whole self was so sad.”

She found herself increasingly holed up in a conference room with Zuckerberg, hiding from the awkwardness of the office. “Mark was the person I turned to,” Sandberg said. 

Sandberg, who first met Zuckerberg when he was a 23-year-old CEO struggling with his role, has long been credited with guiding him to maturity. But this time he was helping her.

“Mark is one of the first people I called when I lost Dave,” she said. “Mark planned the funeral.” He and his wife, Priscilla, were frequent visitors to Sandberg’s house in Menlo Park during the days and weeks after Goldberg’s death. They played with Sandberg’s kids. Zuckerberg helped her son with his math homework, she said.

At work, Zuckerberg was supportive in a very traditional way, telling Sandberg to take as much time as she needed. But, crucially, he also encouraged her actual work. In one of her first meetings after she returned, Sandberg was a bit out of it, she writes. She even misidentified a colleague, and instead of criticizing her or saying something about how he understands she’s still adjusting, Zuckerberg insisted she would’ve made the mistake before Goldberg died. And, even better, also told her she made a great point in the meeting. In short, he made her feel valued.

Sometimes people just need someone to tell them they’re doing OK, and that is key to helping a colleague in grief, Sandberg said. She wanted to feel like she was still a productive worker. “I had no idea how he knew ― I am older and I didn’t know how to do these things. I don’t think this is me teaching him, it’s him teaching me,” she said.

Typically, no one knows what to say to someone who is suffering a loss or an illness or a trauma, Sandberg said. “You want to silence a room? Get cancer. Have a friend or a family member who goes to prison. Lose a job,” she said. “We isolate ourselves.” 

In her post, Sandberg offered guidance on what to say.

“When people say to me, ‘You and your children will find happiness again,’ my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, ‘You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good’ comfort me more because they know and speak the truth,’” she wrote in her post.

“Even a simple ‘How are you?’—almost always asked with the best of intentions— is better replaced with ‘How are you today?’ When I am asked ‘How are you?’ I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.”

Sandberg was opening up about death in a real way. For many who’ve struggled with grief, to read an honest piece from the accomplished executive, about a subject so taboo and painful, was a revelation. The post today has more than 400,000 shares, close to 1 million likes and tens of thousands of comments.

The effect for Sandberg was immediate, she said. “Everyone started saying, ‘How are you today?’” Sandberg said. People started telling her about their own experiences with loss.

“I felt connected to a larger experience of life. There’s so much hardship out there,” she said. “The grief didn’t change, but the isolation did. I felt so much less alone.”

When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day. Sheryl Sandberg

Like Lean In, the new book is part memoir. She writes of the agony of telling her two young children, just 7 and 10 years old, that their father was dead. “I have terrible news. Terrible,” she told them. “Daddy died.”

“The screaming and crying that followed haunt me to this day,” she writes.

The book is also a practical guide for handling grief and adversity. With her coauthor, and friend, psychologist and Wharton professor Adam Grant, Sandberg lays out anecdotes ― she’s spoken with rape survivors, people who’ve gone to prison, refugees ―  and research on perseverance and resilience.

Acutely aware that she’s a billionaire privileged beyond all imagining, Sandberg is extremely careful to write about the suffering of others. In conversation, she acknowledges her privilege repeatedly. When asked about her struggles to parent as a single mother, she demurred. “So many people have immense hardship.” 

In Sandbergian fashion she has also launched a website, OptionB.org, where people can turn for support and guidance in the face of loss.

Surely, an unintentional side benefit to Sandberg’s latest project is that she’s essentially made the case for Facebook ― it offers human connection ― at a time when the social network is under criticism for increasing political polarization.

The new book and website is an attempt to open up conversations about difficult subjects on a mass scale, furthering Facebook’s ostensible mission.

Sandberg found her husband, already dead, on the floor in a hotel gym in Mexico where the two were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Sandberg had unwittingly spoken her last words to him, “I’m falling asleep,” while laying poolside earlier that day, ending a game of Settlers of Catan they were playing on their iPads. That afternoon she had told her son she’d have to talk to his dad before they could make a decision about buying new sneakers.

An autopsy would later confirm that Goldberg, who was CEO of Survey Monkey and a well-known Silicon Valley figure, had a fatal cardiac arrhythmia, caused by coronary artery disease, while running on the treadmill.

They were married for 11 years; friends for longer than that.  

Now she’s dating again. “I never wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to spend my life with Dave. That’s a choice I don’t get to make.”

Sandberg, who is 47-years-old, used to joke about getting older. No more. “There’s only two choices we grow older or we don’t,” she said. “I took it for granted I would grow old and Dave would grow old. It never occurred to me we wouldn’t,” she said.

Finding growth and ultimately joy is the project of Option B. Sandberg makes a point of emphasizing this aspect. The title echoes something a friend told her after Goldberg’s passing. 

When Sandberg was sad she couldn’t bring Goldberg to a school event and had to find someone else to fill in. “But I want Dave,” she said to her friend, as she recounted in her post and again in the book. “He put his arm around me and said, ‘Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.’ “

A chronic over-achiever, Sandberg has definitely lived up to that plan. After Goldberg’s death, she was just struggling to make it through the day she said. But with this book it’s clear that the Harvard MBA, former Google executive is just as ambitious as ever.

Still, things have changed. Sandberg said she travels much less than she used to. Long gone are the days of hosting women’s dinners at her house, she said. “Dave covered when I would have a women’s dinner,” she said. “I don’t do those things anymore.” But she quickly added: “So many people have so much hardship. That’s not what I mourn for. Of course, I had to make big changes.”

And when asked her about her career goals, she pivoted, saying it’s important to live your dreams and find things you want to do. “Even small silly things,” she said. “I’m a really bad piano player and I sing worse, but in those moments I can’t think about anything else. I won’t pretend the grief doesn’t still hit.”

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2q942Yp

[exfrenchdorsl4p0a1]

Why Sheryl Sandberg Decided To Speak Openly About Losing Her Husband

Nearly two years ago, Sheryl Sandberg poured 1,743 words of raw emotion into a Facebook post that essentially made everyone on the internet cry.

Her husband, Dave Goldberg, had died suddenly at the age of 47, not even 30 days earlier. The calendar marked the end of the traditional Jewish mourning period for spouses, but she hardly felt done with grief. Sandberg wasn’t even sure she would hit publish, the Facebook executive told HuffPost last week. She wrote feverishly, put it aside and went to bed.

The post was her desperate attempt to connect with friends and coworkers from whom she felt increasingly isolated in her mourning. “I woke up and thought, this is so bad. And I hit post,” she said.

The writing is pure heartbreak. Sandberg writes over and over about her sadness. About mothering her children while they screamed and cried in pain. “I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser,” she writes. “When tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning.”

Though she didn’t realize it at the time, Sandberg’s essay marked a clear tipping point in her journey back from the hell of a shocking loss. By opening up about her feelings, Sandberg was inviting others to support her ― including colleagues and friends who’d been unsure of what to say. The post offered guidance.

And that guidance formed the basis for Sandberg’s next project. Her latest book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy, out Monday, tackles a universal yet enduringly under-discussed subject: grief.

While her Silicon Valley peers have worked for years on technologies that would extend life, Sandberg’s project offers up a path to happiness based not on fantasies of immortality but on the reality of the sorrow of life itself.

At the time she first posted about Goldberg’s death, Sandberg had already returned to work at Facebook, where she’d been chief operating officer for nearly a decade. She was feeling increasingly lonely.

A notoriously outgoing and collaborative manager, she was surrounded by familiar colleagues and friendly faces. Yet, with the exception of her boss, Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg, no one at the office seemed to know what to say to her. 

“When I came back to work there was a real feeling of isolation,” she said. “It felt like no one was talking to me.... The chitchat ground to a halt. People looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Just a few years ago, Sandberg wrote Lean In, exhorting women to be ambitious, to ask for what they want, to be their full selves at work.  

“Losing Dave brought that home for me,” she said. “My whole self was so sad.”

She found herself increasingly holed up in a conference room with Zuckerberg, hiding from the awkwardness of the office. “Mark was the person I turned to,” Sandberg said. 

Sandberg, who first met Zuckerberg when he was a 23-year-old CEO struggling with his role, has long been credited with guiding him to maturity. But this time he was helping her.

“Mark is one of the first people I called when I lost Dave,” she said. “Mark planned the funeral.” He and his wife, Priscilla, were frequent visitors to Sandberg’s house in Menlo Park during the days and weeks after Goldberg’s death. They played with Sandberg’s kids. Zuckerberg helped her son with his math homework, she said.

At work, Zuckerberg was supportive in a very traditional way, telling Sandberg to take as much time as she needed. But, crucially, he also encouraged her actual work. In one of her first meetings after she returned, Sandberg was a bit out of it, she writes. She even misidentified a colleague, and instead of criticizing her or saying something about how he understands she’s still adjusting, Zuckerberg insisted she would’ve made the mistake before Goldberg died. And, even better, also told her she made a great point in the meeting. In short, he made her feel valued.

Sometimes people just need someone to tell them they’re doing OK, and that is key to helping a colleague in grief, Sandberg said. She wanted to feel like she was still a productive worker. “I had no idea how he knew ― I am older and I didn’t know how to do these things. I don’t think this is me teaching him, it’s him teaching me,” she said.

Typically, no one knows what to say to someone who is suffering a loss or an illness or a trauma, Sandberg said. “You want to silence a room? Get cancer. Have a friend or a family member who goes to prison. Lose a job,” she said. “We isolate ourselves.” 

In her post, Sandberg offered guidance on what to say.

“When people say to me, ‘You and your children will find happiness again,’ my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, ‘You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good’ comfort me more because they know and speak the truth,’” she wrote in her post.

“Even a simple ‘How are you?’—almost always asked with the best of intentions— is better replaced with ‘How are you today?’ When I am asked ‘How are you?’ I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.”

Sandberg was opening up about death in a real way. For many who’ve struggled with grief, to read an honest piece from the accomplished executive, about a subject so taboo and painful, was a revelation. The post today has more than 400,000 shares, close to 1 million likes and tens of thousands of comments.

The effect for Sandberg was immediate, she said. “Everyone started saying, ‘How are you today?’” Sandberg said. People started telling her about their own experiences with loss.

“I felt connected to a larger experience of life. There’s so much hardship out there,” she said. “The grief didn’t change, but the isolation did. I felt so much less alone.”

When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day. Sheryl Sandberg

Like Lean In, the new book is part memoir. She writes of the agony of telling her two young children, just 7 and 10 years old, that their father was dead. “I have terrible news. Terrible,” she told them. “Daddy died.”

“The screaming and crying that followed haunt me to this day,” she writes.

The book is also a practical guide for handling grief and adversity. With her coauthor, and friend, psychologist and Wharton professor Adam Grant, Sandberg lays out anecdotes ― she’s spoken with rape survivors, people who’ve gone to prison, refugees ―  and research on perseverance and resilience.

Acutely aware that she’s a billionaire privileged beyond all imagining, Sandberg is extremely careful to write about the suffering of others. In conversation, she acknowledges her privilege repeatedly. When asked about her struggles to parent as a single mother, she demurred. “So many people have immense hardship.” 

In Sandbergian fashion she has also launched a website, OptionB.org, where people can turn for support and guidance in the face of loss.

Surely, an unintentional side benefit to Sandberg’s latest project is that she’s essentially made the case for Facebook ― it offers human connection ― at a time when the social network is under criticism for increasing political polarization.

The new book and website is an attempt to open up conversations about difficult subjects on a mass scale, furthering Facebook’s ostensible mission.

Sandberg found her husband, already dead, on the floor in a hotel gym in Mexico where the two were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Sandberg had unwittingly spoken her last words to him, “I’m falling asleep,” while laying poolside earlier that day, ending a game of Settlers of Catan they were playing on their iPads. That afternoon she had told her son she’d have to talk to his dad before they could make a decision about buying new sneakers.

An autopsy would later confirm that Goldberg, who was CEO of Survey Monkey and a well-known Silicon Valley figure, had a fatal cardiac arrhythmia, caused by coronary artery disease, while running on the treadmill.

They were married for 11 years; friends for longer than that.  

Now she’s dating again. “I never wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to spend my life with Dave. That’s a choice I don’t get to make.”

Sandberg, who is 47-years-old, used to joke about getting older. No more. “There’s only two choices we grow older or we don’t,” she said. “I took it for granted I would grow old and Dave would grow old. It never occurred to me we wouldn’t,” she said.

Finding growth and ultimately joy is the project of Option B. Sandberg makes a point of emphasizing this aspect. The title echoes something a friend told her after Goldberg’s passing. 

When Sandberg was sad she couldn’t bring Goldberg to a school event and had to find someone else to fill in. “But I want Dave,” she said to her friend, as she recounted in her post and again in the book. “He put his arm around me and said, ‘Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.’ “

A chronic over-achiever, Sandberg has definitely lived up to that plan. After Goldberg’s death, she was just struggling to make it through the day she said. But with this book it’s clear that the Harvard MBA, former Google executive is just as ambitious as ever.

Still, things have changed. Sandberg said she travels much less than she used to. Long gone are the days of hosting women’s dinners at her house, she said. “Dave covered when I would have a women’s dinner,” she said. “I don’t do those things anymore.” But she quickly added: “So many people have so much hardship. That’s not what I mourn for. Of course, I had to make big changes.”

And when asked her about her career goals, she pivoted, saying it’s important to live your dreams and find things you want to do. “Even small silly things,” she said. “I’m a really bad piano player and I sing worse, but in those moments I can’t think about anything else. I won’t pretend the grief doesn’t still hit.”

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2q942Yp

[repwincostl4m0a2]

Why Sheryl Sandberg Decided To Speak Openly About Losing Her Husband

Nearly two years ago, Sheryl Sandberg poured 1,743 words of raw emotion into a Facebook post that essentially made everyone on the internet cry.

Her husband, Dave Goldberg, had died suddenly at the age of 47, not even 30 days earlier. The calendar marked the end of the traditional Jewish mourning period for spouses, but she hardly felt done with grief. Sandberg wasn’t even sure she would hit publish, the Facebook executive told HuffPost last week. She wrote feverishly, put it aside and went to bed.

The post was her desperate attempt to connect with friends and coworkers from whom she felt increasingly isolated in her mourning. “I woke up and thought, this is so bad. And I hit post,” she said.

The writing is pure heartbreak. Sandberg writes over and over about her sadness. About mothering her children while they screamed and cried in pain. “I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser,” she writes. “When tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning.”

Though she didn’t realize it at the time, Sandberg’s essay marked a clear tipping point in her journey back from the hell of a shocking loss. By opening up about her feelings, Sandberg was inviting others to support her ― including colleagues and friends who’d been unsure of what to say. The post offered guidance.

And that guidance formed the basis for Sandberg’s next project. Her latest book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy, out Monday, tackles a universal yet enduringly under-discussed subject: grief.

While her Silicon Valley peers have worked for years on technologies that would extend life, Sandberg’s project offers up a path to happiness based not on fantasies of immortality but on the reality of the sorrow of life itself.

At the time she first posted about Goldberg’s death, Sandberg had already returned to work at Facebook, where she’d been chief operating officer for nearly a decade. She was feeling increasingly lonely.

A notoriously outgoing and collaborative manager, she was surrounded by familiar colleagues and friendly faces. Yet, with the exception of her boss, Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg, no one at the office seemed to know what to say to her. 

“When I came back to work there was a real feeling of isolation,” she said. “It felt like no one was talking to me.... The chitchat ground to a halt. People looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Just a few years ago, Sandberg wrote Lean In, exhorting women to be ambitious, to ask for what they want, to be their full selves at work.  

“Losing Dave brought that home for me,” she said. “My whole self was so sad.”

She found herself increasingly holed up in a conference room with Zuckerberg, hiding from the awkwardness of the office. “Mark was the person I turned to,” Sandberg said. 

Sandberg, who first met Zuckerberg when he was a 23-year-old CEO struggling with his role, has long been credited with guiding him to maturity. But this time he was helping her.

“Mark is one of the first people I called when I lost Dave,” she said. “Mark planned the funeral.” He and his wife, Priscilla, were frequent visitors to Sandberg’s house in Menlo Park during the days and weeks after Goldberg’s death. They played with Sandberg’s kids. Zuckerberg helped her son with his math homework, she said.

At work, Zuckerberg was supportive in a very traditional way, telling Sandberg to take as much time as she needed. But, crucially, he also encouraged her actual work. In one of her first meetings after she returned, Sandberg was a bit out of it, she writes. She even misidentified a colleague, and instead of criticizing her or saying something about how he understands she’s still adjusting, Zuckerberg insisted she would’ve made the mistake before Goldberg died. And, even better, also told her she made a great point in the meeting. In short, he made her feel valued.

Sometimes people just need someone to tell them they’re doing OK, and that is key to helping a colleague in grief, Sandberg said. She wanted to feel like she was still a productive worker. “I had no idea how he knew ― I am older and I didn’t know how to do these things. I don’t think this is me teaching him, it’s him teaching me,” she said.

Typically, no one knows what to say to someone who is suffering a loss or an illness or a trauma, Sandberg said. “You want to silence a room? Get cancer. Have a friend or a family member who goes to prison. Lose a job,” she said. “We isolate ourselves.” 

In her post, Sandberg offered guidance on what to say.

“When people say to me, ‘You and your children will find happiness again,’ my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, ‘You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good’ comfort me more because they know and speak the truth,’” she wrote in her post.

“Even a simple ‘How are you?’—almost always asked with the best of intentions— is better replaced with ‘How are you today?’ When I am asked ‘How are you?’ I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.”

Sandberg was opening up about death in a real way. For many who’ve struggled with grief, to read an honest piece from the accomplished executive, about a subject so taboo and painful, was a revelation. The post today has more than 400,000 shares, close to 1 million likes and tens of thousands of comments.

The effect for Sandberg was immediate, she said. “Everyone started saying, ‘How are you today?’” Sandberg said. People started telling her about their own experiences with loss.

“I felt connected to a larger experience of life. There’s so much hardship out there,” she said. “The grief didn’t change, but the isolation did. I felt so much less alone.”

When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day. Sheryl Sandberg

Like Lean In, the new book is part memoir. She writes of the agony of telling her two young children, just 7 and 10 years old, that their father was dead. “I have terrible news. Terrible,” she told them. “Daddy died.”

“The screaming and crying that followed haunt me to this day,” she writes.

The book is also a practical guide for handling grief and adversity. With her coauthor, and friend, psychologist and Wharton professor Adam Grant, Sandberg lays out anecdotes ― she’s spoken with rape survivors, people who’ve gone to prison, refugees ―  and research on perseverance and resilience.

Acutely aware that she’s a billionaire privileged beyond all imagining, Sandberg is extremely careful to write about the suffering of others. In conversation, she acknowledges her privilege repeatedly. When asked about her struggles to parent as a single mother, she demurred. “So many people have immense hardship.” 

In Sandbergian fashion she has also launched a website, OptionB.org, where people can turn for support and guidance in the face of loss.

Surely, an unintentional side benefit to Sandberg’s latest project is that she’s essentially made the case for Facebook ― it offers human connection ― at a time when the social network is under criticism for increasing political polarization.

The new book and website is an attempt to open up conversations about difficult subjects on a mass scale, furthering Facebook’s ostensible mission.

Sandberg found her husband, already dead, on the floor in a hotel gym in Mexico where the two were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Sandberg had unwittingly spoken her last words to him, “I’m falling asleep,” while laying poolside earlier that day, ending a game of Settlers of Catan they were playing on their iPads. That afternoon she had told her son she’d have to talk to his dad before they could make a decision about buying new sneakers.

An autopsy would later confirm that Goldberg, who was CEO of Survey Monkey and a well-known Silicon Valley figure, had a fatal cardiac arrhythmia, caused by coronary artery disease, while running on the treadmill.

They were married for 11 years; friends for longer than that.  

Now she’s dating again. “I never wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to spend my life with Dave. That’s a choice I don’t get to make.”

Sandberg, who is 47-years-old, used to joke about getting older. No more. “There’s only two choices we grow older or we don’t,” she said. “I took it for granted I would grow old and Dave would grow old. It never occurred to me we wouldn’t,” she said.

Finding growth and ultimately joy is the project of Option B. Sandberg makes a point of emphasizing this aspect. The title echoes something a friend told her after Goldberg’s passing. 

When Sandberg was sad she couldn’t bring Goldberg to a school event and had to find someone else to fill in. “But I want Dave,” she said to her friend, as she recounted in her post and again in the book. “He put his arm around me and said, ‘Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.’ “

A chronic over-achiever, Sandberg has definitely lived up to that plan. After Goldberg’s death, she was just struggling to make it through the day she said. But with this book it’s clear that the Harvard MBA, former Google executive is just as ambitious as ever.

Still, things have changed. Sandberg said she travels much less than she used to. Long gone are the days of hosting women’s dinners at her house, she said. “Dave covered when I would have a women’s dinner,” she said. “I don’t do those things anymore.” But she quickly added: “So many people have so much hardship. That’s not what I mourn for. Of course, I had to make big changes.”

And when asked her about her career goals, she pivoted, saying it’s important to live your dreams and find things you want to do. “Even small silly things,” she said. “I’m a really bad piano player and I sing worse, but in those moments I can’t think about anything else. I won’t pretend the grief doesn’t still hit.”

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2q942Yp

[grgedoors02142]

Why Sheryl Sandberg Decided To Speak Openly About Losing Her Husband

Nearly two years ago, Sheryl Sandberg poured 1,743 words of raw emotion into a Facebook post that essentially made everyone on the internet cry.

Her husband, Dave Goldberg, had died suddenly at the age of 47, not even 30 days earlier. The calendar marked the end of the traditional Jewish mourning period for spouses, but she hardly felt done with grief. Sandberg wasn’t even sure she would hit publish, the Facebook executive told HuffPost last week. She wrote feverishly, put it aside and went to bed.

The post was her desperate attempt to connect with friends and coworkers from whom she felt increasingly isolated in her mourning. “I woke up and thought, this is so bad. And I hit post,” she said.

The writing is pure heartbreak. Sandberg writes over and over about her sadness. About mothering her children while they screamed and cried in pain. “I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser,” she writes. “When tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning.”

Though she didn’t realize it at the time, Sandberg’s essay marked a clear tipping point in her journey back from the hell of a shocking loss. By opening up about her feelings, Sandberg was inviting others to support her ― including colleagues and friends who’d been unsure of what to say. The post offered guidance.

And that guidance formed the basis for Sandberg’s next project. Her latest book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy, out Monday, tackles a universal yet enduringly under-discussed subject: grief.

While her Silicon Valley peers have worked for years on technologies that would extend life, Sandberg’s project offers up a path to happiness based not on fantasies of immortality but on the reality of the sorrow of life itself.

At the time she first posted about Goldberg’s death, Sandberg had already returned to work at Facebook, where she’d been chief operating officer for nearly a decade. She was feeling increasingly lonely.

A notoriously outgoing and collaborative manager, she was surrounded by familiar colleagues and friendly faces. Yet, with the exception of her boss, Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg, no one at the office seemed to know what to say to her. 

“When I came back to work there was a real feeling of isolation,” she said. “It felt like no one was talking to me.... The chitchat ground to a halt. People looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Just a few years ago, Sandberg wrote Lean In, exhorting women to be ambitious, to ask for what they want, to be their full selves at work.  

“Losing Dave brought that home for me,” she said. “My whole self was so sad.”

She found herself increasingly holed up in a conference room with Zuckerberg, hiding from the awkwardness of the office. “Mark was the person I turned to,” Sandberg said. 

Sandberg, who first met Zuckerberg when he was a 23-year-old CEO struggling with his role, has long been credited with guiding him to maturity. But this time he was helping her.

“Mark is one of the first people I called when I lost Dave,” she said. “Mark planned the funeral.” He and his wife, Priscilla, were frequent visitors to Sandberg’s house in Menlo Park during the days and weeks after Goldberg’s death. They played with Sandberg’s kids. Zuckerberg helped her son with his math homework, she said.

At work, Zuckerberg was supportive in a very traditional way, telling Sandberg to take as much time as she needed. But, crucially, he also encouraged her actual work. In one of her first meetings after she returned, Sandberg was a bit out of it, she writes. She even misidentified a colleague, and instead of criticizing her or saying something about how he understands she’s still adjusting, Zuckerberg insisted she would’ve made the mistake before Goldberg died. And, even better, also told her she made a great point in the meeting. In short, he made her feel valued.

Sometimes people just need someone to tell them they’re doing OK, and that is key to helping a colleague in grief, Sandberg said. She wanted to feel like she was still a productive worker. “I had no idea how he knew ― I am older and I didn’t know how to do these things. I don’t think this is me teaching him, it’s him teaching me,” she said.

Typically, no one knows what to say to someone who is suffering a loss or an illness or a trauma, Sandberg said. “You want to silence a room? Get cancer. Have a friend or a family member who goes to prison. Lose a job,” she said. “We isolate ourselves.” 

In her post, Sandberg offered guidance on what to say.

“When people say to me, ‘You and your children will find happiness again,’ my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, ‘You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good’ comfort me more because they know and speak the truth,’” she wrote in her post.

“Even a simple ‘How are you?’—almost always asked with the best of intentions— is better replaced with ‘How are you today?’ When I am asked ‘How are you?’ I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.”

Sandberg was opening up about death in a real way. For many who’ve struggled with grief, to read an honest piece from the accomplished executive, about a subject so taboo and painful, was a revelation. The post today has more than 400,000 shares, close to 1 million likes and tens of thousands of comments.

The effect for Sandberg was immediate, she said. “Everyone started saying, ‘How are you today?’” Sandberg said. People started telling her about their own experiences with loss.

“I felt connected to a larger experience of life. There’s so much hardship out there,” she said. “The grief didn’t change, but the isolation did. I felt so much less alone.”

When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day. Sheryl Sandberg

Like Lean In, the new book is part memoir. She writes of the agony of telling her two young children, just 7 and 10 years old, that their father was dead. “I have terrible news. Terrible,” she told them. “Daddy died.”

“The screaming and crying that followed haunt me to this day,” she writes.

The book is also a practical guide for handling grief and adversity. With her coauthor, and friend, psychologist and Wharton professor Adam Grant, Sandberg lays out anecdotes ― she’s spoken with rape survivors, people who’ve gone to prison, refugees ―  and research on perseverance and resilience.

Acutely aware that she’s a billionaire privileged beyond all imagining, Sandberg is extremely careful to write about the suffering of others. In conversation, she acknowledges her privilege repeatedly. When asked about her struggles to parent as a single mother, she demurred. “So many people have immense hardship.” 

In Sandbergian fashion she has also launched a website, OptionB.org, where people can turn for support and guidance in the face of loss.

Surely, an unintentional side benefit to Sandberg’s latest project is that she’s essentially made the case for Facebook ― it offers human connection ― at a time when the social network is under criticism for increasing political polarization.

The new book and website is an attempt to open up conversations about difficult subjects on a mass scale, furthering Facebook’s ostensible mission.

Sandberg found her husband, already dead, on the floor in a hotel gym in Mexico where the two were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Sandberg had unwittingly spoken her last words to him, “I’m falling asleep,” while laying poolside earlier that day, ending a game of Settlers of Catan they were playing on their iPads. That afternoon she had told her son she’d have to talk to his dad before they could make a decision about buying new sneakers.

An autopsy would later confirm that Goldberg, who was CEO of Survey Monkey and a well-known Silicon Valley figure, had a fatal cardiac arrhythmia, caused by coronary artery disease, while running on the treadmill.

They were married for 11 years; friends for longer than that.  

Now she’s dating again. “I never wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to spend my life with Dave. That’s a choice I don’t get to make.”

Sandberg, who is 47-years-old, used to joke about getting older. No more. “There’s only two choices we grow older or we don’t,” she said. “I took it for granted I would grow old and Dave would grow old. It never occurred to me we wouldn’t,” she said.

Finding growth and ultimately joy is the project of Option B. Sandberg makes a point of emphasizing this aspect. The title echoes something a friend told her after Goldberg’s passing. 

When Sandberg was sad she couldn’t bring Goldberg to a school event and had to find someone else to fill in. “But I want Dave,” she said to her friend, as she recounted in her post and again in the book. “He put his arm around me and said, ‘Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.’ “

A chronic over-achiever, Sandberg has definitely lived up to that plan. After Goldberg’s death, she was just struggling to make it through the day she said. But with this book it’s clear that the Harvard MBA, former Google executive is just as ambitious as ever.

Still, things have changed. Sandberg said she travels much less than she used to. Long gone are the days of hosting women’s dinners at her house, she said. “Dave covered when I would have a women’s dinner,” she said. “I don’t do those things anymore.” But she quickly added: “So many people have so much hardship. That’s not what I mourn for. Of course, I had to make big changes.”

And when asked her about her career goals, she pivoted, saying it’s important to live your dreams and find things you want to do. “Even small silly things,” she said. “I’m a really bad piano player and I sing worse, but in those moments I can’t think about anything else. I won’t pretend the grief doesn’t still hit.”

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2q942Yp

[repwincoml4a0a5]

Why Sheryl Sandberg Decided To Speak Openly About Losing Her Husband

Nearly two years ago, Sheryl Sandberg poured 1,743 words of raw emotion into a Facebook post that essentially made everyone on the internet cry.

Her husband, Dave Goldberg, had died suddenly at the age of 47, not even 30 days earlier. The calendar marked the end of the traditional Jewish mourning period for spouses, but she hardly felt done with grief. Sandberg wasn’t even sure she would hit publish, the Facebook executive told HuffPost last week. She wrote feverishly, put it aside and went to bed.

The post was her desperate attempt to connect with friends and coworkers from whom she felt increasingly isolated in her mourning. “I woke up and thought, this is so bad. And I hit post,” she said.

The writing is pure heartbreak. Sandberg writes over and over about her sadness. About mothering her children while they screamed and cried in pain. “I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser,” she writes. “When tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning.”

Though she didn’t realize it at the time, Sandberg’s essay marked a clear tipping point in her journey back from the hell of a shocking loss. By opening up about her feelings, Sandberg was inviting others to support her ― including colleagues and friends who’d been unsure of what to say. The post offered guidance.

And that guidance formed the basis for Sandberg’s next project. Her latest book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy, out Monday, tackles a universal yet enduringly under-discussed subject: grief.

While her Silicon Valley peers have worked for years on technologies that would extend life, Sandberg’s project offers up a path to happiness based not on fantasies of immortality but on the reality of the sorrow of life itself.

At the time she first posted about Goldberg’s death, Sandberg had already returned to work at Facebook, where she’d been chief operating officer for nearly a decade. She was feeling increasingly lonely.

A notoriously outgoing and collaborative manager, she was surrounded by familiar colleagues and friendly faces. Yet, with the exception of her boss, Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg, no one at the office seemed to know what to say to her. 

“When I came back to work there was a real feeling of isolation,” she said. “It felt like no one was talking to me.... The chitchat ground to a halt. People looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Just a few years ago, Sandberg wrote Lean In, exhorting women to be ambitious, to ask for what they want, to be their full selves at work.  

“Losing Dave brought that home for me,” she said. “My whole self was so sad.”

She found herself increasingly holed up in a conference room with Zuckerberg, hiding from the awkwardness of the office. “Mark was the person I turned to,” Sandberg said. 

Sandberg, who first met Zuckerberg when he was a 23-year-old CEO struggling with his role, has long been credited with guiding him to maturity. But this time he was helping her.

“Mark is one of the first people I called when I lost Dave,” she said. “Mark planned the funeral.” He and his wife, Priscilla, were frequent visitors to Sandberg’s house in Menlo Park during the days and weeks after Goldberg’s death. They played with Sandberg’s kids. Zuckerberg helped her son with his math homework, she said.

At work, Zuckerberg was supportive in a very traditional way, telling Sandberg to take as much time as she needed. But, crucially, he also encouraged her actual work. In one of her first meetings after she returned, Sandberg was a bit out of it, she writes. She even misidentified a colleague, and instead of criticizing her or saying something about how he understands she’s still adjusting, Zuckerberg insisted she would’ve made the mistake before Goldberg died. And, even better, also told her she made a great point in the meeting. In short, he made her feel valued.

Sometimes people just need someone to tell them they’re doing OK, and that is key to helping a colleague in grief, Sandberg said. She wanted to feel like she was still a productive worker. “I had no idea how he knew ― I am older and I didn’t know how to do these things. I don’t think this is me teaching him, it’s him teaching me,” she said.

Typically, no one knows what to say to someone who is suffering a loss or an illness or a trauma, Sandberg said. “You want to silence a room? Get cancer. Have a friend or a family member who goes to prison. Lose a job,” she said. “We isolate ourselves.” 

In her post, Sandberg offered guidance on what to say.

“When people say to me, ‘You and your children will find happiness again,’ my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, ‘You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good’ comfort me more because they know and speak the truth,’” she wrote in her post.

“Even a simple ‘How are you?’—almost always asked with the best of intentions— is better replaced with ‘How are you today?’ When I am asked ‘How are you?’ I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.”

Sandberg was opening up about death in a real way. For many who’ve struggled with grief, to read an honest piece from the accomplished executive, about a subject so taboo and painful, was a revelation. The post today has more than 400,000 shares, close to 1 million likes and tens of thousands of comments.

The effect for Sandberg was immediate, she said. “Everyone started saying, ‘How are you today?’” Sandberg said. People started telling her about their own experiences with loss.

“I felt connected to a larger experience of life. There’s so much hardship out there,” she said. “The grief didn’t change, but the isolation did. I felt so much less alone.”

When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day. Sheryl Sandberg

Like Lean In, the new book is part memoir. She writes of the agony of telling her two young children, just 7 and 10 years old, that their father was dead. “I have terrible news. Terrible,” she told them. “Daddy died.”

“The screaming and crying that followed haunt me to this day,” she writes.

The book is also a practical guide for handling grief and adversity. With her coauthor, and friend, psychologist and Wharton professor Adam Grant, Sandberg lays out anecdotes ― she’s spoken with rape survivors, people who’ve gone to prison, refugees ―  and research on perseverance and resilience.

Acutely aware that she’s a billionaire privileged beyond all imagining, Sandberg is extremely careful to write about the suffering of others. In conversation, she acknowledges her privilege repeatedly. When asked about her struggles to parent as a single mother, she demurred. “So many people have immense hardship.” 

In Sandbergian fashion she has also launched a website, OptionB.org, where people can turn for support and guidance in the face of loss.

Surely, an unintentional side benefit to Sandberg’s latest project is that she’s essentially made the case for Facebook ― it offers human connection ― at a time when the social network is under criticism for increasing political polarization.

The new book and website is an attempt to open up conversations about difficult subjects on a mass scale, furthering Facebook’s ostensible mission.

Sandberg found her husband, already dead, on the floor in a hotel gym in Mexico where the two were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Sandberg had unwittingly spoken her last words to him, “I’m falling asleep,” while laying poolside earlier that day, ending a game of Settlers of Catan they were playing on their iPads. That afternoon she had told her son she’d have to talk to his dad before they could make a decision about buying new sneakers.

An autopsy would later confirm that Goldberg, who was CEO of Survey Monkey and a well-known Silicon Valley figure, had a fatal cardiac arrhythmia, caused by coronary artery disease, while running on the treadmill.

They were married for 11 years; friends for longer than that.  

Now she’s dating again. “I never wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to spend my life with Dave. That’s a choice I don’t get to make.”

Sandberg, who is 47-years-old, used to joke about getting older. No more. “There’s only two choices we grow older or we don’t,” she said. “I took it for granted I would grow old and Dave would grow old. It never occurred to me we wouldn’t,” she said.

Finding growth and ultimately joy is the project of Option B. Sandberg makes a point of emphasizing this aspect. The title echoes something a friend told her after Goldberg’s passing. 

When Sandberg was sad she couldn’t bring Goldberg to a school event and had to find someone else to fill in. “But I want Dave,” she said to her friend, as she recounted in her post and again in the book. “He put his arm around me and said, ‘Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.’ “

A chronic over-achiever, Sandberg has definitely lived up to that plan. After Goldberg’s death, she was just struggling to make it through the day she said. But with this book it’s clear that the Harvard MBA, former Google executive is just as ambitious as ever.

Still, things have changed. Sandberg said she travels much less than she used to. Long gone are the days of hosting women’s dinners at her house, she said. “Dave covered when I would have a women’s dinner,” she said. “I don’t do those things anymore.” But she quickly added: “So many people have so much hardship. That’s not what I mourn for. Of course, I had to make big changes.”

And when asked her about her career goals, she pivoted, saying it’s important to live your dreams and find things you want to do. “Even small silly things,” she said. “I’m a really bad piano player and I sing worse, but in those moments I can’t think about anything else. I won’t pretend the grief doesn’t still hit.”

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2q942Yp

[chpatdoorsl3z0a1]

Why Sheryl Sandberg Decided To Speak Openly About Losing Her Husband

Nearly two years ago, Sheryl Sandberg poured 1,743 words of raw emotion into a Facebook post that essentially made everyone on the internet cry.

Her husband, Dave Goldberg, had died suddenly at the age of 47, not even 30 days earlier. The calendar marked the end of the traditional Jewish mourning period for spouses, but she hardly felt done with grief. Sandberg wasn’t even sure she would hit publish, the Facebook executive told HuffPost last week. She wrote feverishly, put it aside and went to bed.

The post was her desperate attempt to connect with friends and coworkers from whom she felt increasingly isolated in her mourning. “I woke up and thought, this is so bad. And I hit post,” she said.

The writing is pure heartbreak. Sandberg writes over and over about her sadness. About mothering her children while they screamed and cried in pain. “I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser,” she writes. “When tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning.”

Though she didn’t realize it at the time, Sandberg’s essay marked a clear tipping point in her journey back from the hell of a shocking loss. By opening up about her feelings, Sandberg was inviting others to support her ― including colleagues and friends who’d been unsure of what to say. The post offered guidance.

And that guidance formed the basis for Sandberg’s next project. Her latest book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy, out Monday, tackles a universal yet enduringly under-discussed subject: grief.

While her Silicon Valley peers have worked for years on technologies that would extend life, Sandberg’s project offers up a path to happiness based not on fantasies of immortality but on the reality of the sorrow of life itself.

At the time she first posted about Goldberg’s death, Sandberg had already returned to work at Facebook, where she’d been chief operating officer for nearly a decade. She was feeling increasingly lonely.

A notoriously outgoing and collaborative manager, she was surrounded by familiar colleagues and friendly faces. Yet, with the exception of her boss, Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg, no one at the office seemed to know what to say to her. 

“When I came back to work there was a real feeling of isolation,” she said. “It felt like no one was talking to me.... The chitchat ground to a halt. People looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Just a few years ago, Sandberg wrote Lean In, exhorting women to be ambitious, to ask for what they want, to be their full selves at work.  

“Losing Dave brought that home for me,” she said. “My whole self was so sad.”

She found herself increasingly holed up in a conference room with Zuckerberg, hiding from the awkwardness of the office. “Mark was the person I turned to,” Sandberg said. 

Sandberg, who first met Zuckerberg when he was a 23-year-old CEO struggling with his role, has long been credited with guiding him to maturity. But this time he was helping her.

“Mark is one of the first people I called when I lost Dave,” she said. “Mark planned the funeral.” He and his wife, Priscilla, were frequent visitors to Sandberg’s house in Menlo Park during the days and weeks after Goldberg’s death. They played with Sandberg’s kids. Zuckerberg helped her son with his math homework, she said.

At work, Zuckerberg was supportive in a very traditional way, telling Sandberg to take as much time as she needed. But, crucially, he also encouraged her actual work. In one of her first meetings after she returned, Sandberg was a bit out of it, she writes. She even misidentified a colleague, and instead of criticizing her or saying something about how he understands she’s still adjusting, Zuckerberg insisted she would’ve made the mistake before Goldberg died. And, even better, also told her she made a great point in the meeting. In short, he made her feel valued.

Sometimes people just need someone to tell them they’re doing OK, and that is key to helping a colleague in grief, Sandberg said. She wanted to feel like she was still a productive worker. “I had no idea how he knew ― I am older and I didn’t know how to do these things. I don’t think this is me teaching him, it’s him teaching me,” she said.

Typically, no one knows what to say to someone who is suffering a loss or an illness or a trauma, Sandberg said. “You want to silence a room? Get cancer. Have a friend or a family member who goes to prison. Lose a job,” she said. “We isolate ourselves.” 

In her post, Sandberg offered guidance on what to say.

“When people say to me, ‘You and your children will find happiness again,’ my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, ‘You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good’ comfort me more because they know and speak the truth,’” she wrote in her post.

“Even a simple ‘How are you?’—almost always asked with the best of intentions— is better replaced with ‘How are you today?’ When I am asked ‘How are you?’ I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.”

Sandberg was opening up about death in a real way. For many who’ve struggled with grief, to read an honest piece from the accomplished executive, about a subject so taboo and painful, was a revelation. The post today has more than 400,000 shares, close to 1 million likes and tens of thousands of comments.

The effect for Sandberg was immediate, she said. “Everyone started saying, ‘How are you today?’” Sandberg said. People started telling her about their own experiences with loss.

“I felt connected to a larger experience of life. There’s so much hardship out there,” she said. “The grief didn’t change, but the isolation did. I felt so much less alone.”

When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day. Sheryl Sandberg

Like Lean In, the new book is part memoir. She writes of the agony of telling her two young children, just 7 and 10 years old, that their father was dead. “I have terrible news. Terrible,” she told them. “Daddy died.”

“The screaming and crying that followed haunt me to this day,” she writes.

The book is also a practical guide for handling grief and adversity. With her coauthor, and friend, psychologist and Wharton professor Adam Grant, Sandberg lays out anecdotes ― she’s spoken with rape survivors, people who’ve gone to prison, refugees ―  and research on perseverance and resilience.

Acutely aware that she’s a billionaire privileged beyond all imagining, Sandberg is extremely careful to write about the suffering of others. In conversation, she acknowledges her privilege repeatedly. When asked about her struggles to parent as a single mother, she demurred. “So many people have immense hardship.” 

In Sandbergian fashion she has also launched a website, OptionB.org, where people can turn for support and guidance in the face of loss.

Surely, an unintentional side benefit to Sandberg’s latest project is that she’s essentially made the case for Facebook ― it offers human connection ― at a time when the social network is under criticism for increasing political polarization.

The new book and website is an attempt to open up conversations about difficult subjects on a mass scale, furthering Facebook’s ostensible mission.

Sandberg found her husband, already dead, on the floor in a hotel gym in Mexico where the two were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Sandberg had unwittingly spoken her last words to him, “I’m falling asleep,” while laying poolside earlier that day, ending a game of Settlers of Catan they were playing on their iPads. That afternoon she had told her son she’d have to talk to his dad before they could make a decision about buying new sneakers.

An autopsy would later confirm that Goldberg, who was CEO of Survey Monkey and a well-known Silicon Valley figure, had a fatal cardiac arrhythmia, caused by coronary artery disease, while running on the treadmill.

They were married for 11 years; friends for longer than that.  

Now she’s dating again. “I never wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to spend my life with Dave. That’s a choice I don’t get to make.”

Sandberg, who is 47-years-old, used to joke about getting older. No more. “There’s only two choices we grow older or we don’t,” she said. “I took it for granted I would grow old and Dave would grow old. It never occurred to me we wouldn’t,” she said.

Finding growth and ultimately joy is the project of Option B. Sandberg makes a point of emphasizing this aspect. The title echoes something a friend told her after Goldberg’s passing. 

When Sandberg was sad she couldn’t bring Goldberg to a school event and had to find someone else to fill in. “But I want Dave,” she said to her friend, as she recounted in her post and again in the book. “He put his arm around me and said, ‘Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.’ “

A chronic over-achiever, Sandberg has definitely lived up to that plan. After Goldberg’s death, she was just struggling to make it through the day she said. But with this book it’s clear that the Harvard MBA, former Google executive is just as ambitious as ever.

Still, things have changed. Sandberg said she travels much less than she used to. Long gone are the days of hosting women’s dinners at her house, she said. “Dave covered when I would have a women’s dinner,” she said. “I don’t do those things anymore.” But she quickly added: “So many people have so much hardship. That’s not what I mourn for. Of course, I had to make big changes.”

And when asked her about her career goals, she pivoted, saying it’s important to live your dreams and find things you want to do. “Even small silly things,” she said. “I’m a really bad piano player and I sing worse, but in those moments I can’t think about anything else. I won’t pretend the grief doesn’t still hit.”

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2q942Yp

[rtscrndr53704]

Why Sheryl Sandberg Decided To Speak Openly About Losing Her Husband

Nearly two years ago, Sheryl Sandberg poured 1,743 words of raw emotion into a Facebook post that essentially made everyone on the internet cry.

Her husband, Dave Goldberg, had died suddenly at the age of 47, not even 30 days earlier. The calendar marked the end of the traditional Jewish mourning period for spouses, but she hardly felt done with grief. Sandberg wasn’t even sure she would hit publish, the Facebook executive told HuffPost last week. She wrote feverishly, put it aside and went to bed.

The post was her desperate attempt to connect with friends and coworkers from whom she felt increasingly isolated in her mourning. “I woke up and thought, this is so bad. And I hit post,” she said.

The writing is pure heartbreak. Sandberg writes over and over about her sadness. About mothering her children while they screamed and cried in pain. “I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser,” she writes. “When tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning.”

Though she didn’t realize it at the time, Sandberg’s essay marked a clear tipping point in her journey back from the hell of a shocking loss. By opening up about her feelings, Sandberg was inviting others to support her ― including colleagues and friends who’d been unsure of what to say. The post offered guidance.

And that guidance formed the basis for Sandberg’s next project. Her latest book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy, out Monday, tackles a universal yet enduringly under-discussed subject: grief.

While her Silicon Valley peers have worked for years on technologies that would extend life, Sandberg’s project offers up a path to happiness based not on fantasies of immortality but on the reality of the sorrow of life itself.

At the time she first posted about Goldberg’s death, Sandberg had already returned to work at Facebook, where she’d been chief operating officer for nearly a decade. She was feeling increasingly lonely.

A notoriously outgoing and collaborative manager, she was surrounded by familiar colleagues and friendly faces. Yet, with the exception of her boss, Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg, no one at the office seemed to know what to say to her. 

“When I came back to work there was a real feeling of isolation,” she said. “It felt like no one was talking to me.... The chitchat ground to a halt. People looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Just a few years ago, Sandberg wrote Lean In, exhorting women to be ambitious, to ask for what they want, to be their full selves at work.  

“Losing Dave brought that home for me,” she said. “My whole self was so sad.”

She found herself increasingly holed up in a conference room with Zuckerberg, hiding from the awkwardness of the office. “Mark was the person I turned to,” Sandberg said. 

Sandberg, who first met Zuckerberg when he was a 23-year-old CEO struggling with his role, has long been credited with guiding him to maturity. But this time he was helping her.

“Mark is one of the first people I called when I lost Dave,” she said. “Mark planned the funeral.” He and his wife, Priscilla, were frequent visitors to Sandberg’s house in Menlo Park during the days and weeks after Goldberg’s death. They played with Sandberg’s kids. Zuckerberg helped her son with his math homework, she said.

At work, Zuckerberg was supportive in a very traditional way, telling Sandberg to take as much time as she needed. But, crucially, he also encouraged her actual work. In one of her first meetings after she returned, Sandberg was a bit out of it, she writes. She even misidentified a colleague, and instead of criticizing her or saying something about how he understands she’s still adjusting, Zuckerberg insisted she would’ve made the mistake before Goldberg died. And, even better, also told her she made a great point in the meeting. In short, he made her feel valued.

Sometimes people just need someone to tell them they’re doing OK, and that is key to helping a colleague in grief, Sandberg said. She wanted to feel like she was still a productive worker. “I had no idea how he knew ― I am older and I didn’t know how to do these things. I don’t think this is me teaching him, it’s him teaching me,” she said.

Typically, no one knows what to say to someone who is suffering a loss or an illness or a trauma, Sandberg said. “You want to silence a room? Get cancer. Have a friend or a family member who goes to prison. Lose a job,” she said. “We isolate ourselves.” 

In her post, Sandberg offered guidance on what to say.

“When people say to me, ‘You and your children will find happiness again,’ my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, ‘You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good’ comfort me more because they know and speak the truth,’” she wrote in her post.

“Even a simple ‘How are you?’—almost always asked with the best of intentions— is better replaced with ‘How are you today?’ When I am asked ‘How are you?’ I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.”

Sandberg was opening up about death in a real way. For many who’ve struggled with grief, to read an honest piece from the accomplished executive, about a subject so taboo and painful, was a revelation. The post today has more than 400,000 shares, close to 1 million likes and tens of thousands of comments.

The effect for Sandberg was immediate, she said. “Everyone started saying, ‘How are you today?’” Sandberg said. People started telling her about their own experiences with loss.

“I felt connected to a larger experience of life. There’s so much hardship out there,” she said. “The grief didn’t change, but the isolation did. I felt so much less alone.”

When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day. Sheryl Sandberg

Like Lean In, the new book is part memoir. She writes of the agony of telling her two young children, just 7 and 10 years old, that their father was dead. “I have terrible news. Terrible,” she told them. “Daddy died.”

“The screaming and crying that followed haunt me to this day,” she writes.

The book is also a practical guide for handling grief and adversity. With her coauthor, and friend, psychologist and Wharton professor Adam Grant, Sandberg lays out anecdotes ― she’s spoken with rape survivors, people who’ve gone to prison, refugees ―  and research on perseverance and resilience.

Acutely aware that she’s a billionaire privileged beyond all imagining, Sandberg is extremely careful to write about the suffering of others. In conversation, she acknowledges her privilege repeatedly. When asked about her struggles to parent as a single mother, she demurred. “So many people have immense hardship.” 

In Sandbergian fashion she has also launched a website, OptionB.org, where people can turn for support and guidance in the face of loss.

Surely, an unintentional side benefit to Sandberg’s latest project is that she’s essentially made the case for Facebook ― it offers human connection ― at a time when the social network is under criticism for increasing political polarization.

The new book and website is an attempt to open up conversations about difficult subjects on a mass scale, furthering Facebook’s ostensible mission.

Sandberg found her husband, already dead, on the floor in a hotel gym in Mexico where the two were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Sandberg had unwittingly spoken her last words to him, “I’m falling asleep,” while laying poolside earlier that day, ending a game of Settlers of Catan they were playing on their iPads. That afternoon she had told her son she’d have to talk to his dad before they could make a decision about buying new sneakers.

An autopsy would later confirm that Goldberg, who was CEO of Survey Monkey and a well-known Silicon Valley figure, had a fatal cardiac arrhythmia, caused by coronary artery disease, while running on the treadmill.

They were married for 11 years; friends for longer than that.  

Now she’s dating again. “I never wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to spend my life with Dave. That’s a choice I don’t get to make.”

Sandberg, who is 47-years-old, used to joke about getting older. No more. “There’s only two choices we grow older or we don’t,” she said. “I took it for granted I would grow old and Dave would grow old. It never occurred to me we wouldn’t,” she said.

Finding growth and ultimately joy is the project of Option B. Sandberg makes a point of emphasizing this aspect. The title echoes something a friend told her after Goldberg’s passing. 

When Sandberg was sad she couldn’t bring Goldberg to a school event and had to find someone else to fill in. “But I want Dave,” she said to her friend, as she recounted in her post and again in the book. “He put his arm around me and said, ‘Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.’ “

A chronic over-achiever, Sandberg has definitely lived up to that plan. After Goldberg’s death, she was just struggling to make it through the day she said. But with this book it’s clear that the Harvard MBA, former Google executive is just as ambitious as ever.

Still, things have changed. Sandberg said she travels much less than she used to. Long gone are the days of hosting women’s dinners at her house, she said. “Dave covered when I would have a women’s dinner,” she said. “I don’t do those things anymore.” But she quickly added: “So many people have so much hardship. That’s not what I mourn for. Of course, I had to make big changes.”

And when asked her about her career goals, she pivoted, saying it’s important to live your dreams and find things you want to do. “Even small silly things,” she said. “I’m a really bad piano player and I sing worse, but in those moments I can’t think about anything else. I won’t pretend the grief doesn’t still hit.”

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2q942Yp

[rtawngs20815]

Why Sheryl Sandberg Decided To Speak Openly About Losing Her Husband

Nearly two years ago, Sheryl Sandberg poured 1,743 words of raw emotion into a Facebook post that essentially made everyone on the internet cry.

Her husband, Dave Goldberg, had died suddenly at the age of 47, not even 30 days earlier. The calendar marked the end of the traditional Jewish mourning period for spouses, but she hardly felt done with grief. Sandberg wasn’t even sure she would hit publish, the Facebook executive told HuffPost last week. She wrote feverishly, put it aside and went to bed.

The post was her desperate attempt to connect with friends and coworkers from whom she felt increasingly isolated in her mourning. “I woke up and thought, this is so bad. And I hit post,” she said.

The writing is pure heartbreak. Sandberg writes over and over about her sadness. About mothering her children while they screamed and cried in pain. “I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser,” she writes. “When tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning.”

Though she didn’t realize it at the time, Sandberg’s essay marked a clear tipping point in her journey back from the hell of a shocking loss. By opening up about her feelings, Sandberg was inviting others to support her ― including colleagues and friends who’d been unsure of what to say. The post offered guidance.

And that guidance formed the basis for Sandberg’s next project. Her latest book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy, out Monday, tackles a universal yet enduringly under-discussed subject: grief.

While her Silicon Valley peers have worked for years on technologies that would extend life, Sandberg’s project offers up a path to happiness based not on fantasies of immortality but on the reality of the sorrow of life itself.

At the time she first posted about Goldberg’s death, Sandberg had already returned to work at Facebook, where she’d been chief operating officer for nearly a decade. She was feeling increasingly lonely.

A notoriously outgoing and collaborative manager, she was surrounded by familiar colleagues and friendly faces. Yet, with the exception of her boss, Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg, no one at the office seemed to know what to say to her. 

“When I came back to work there was a real feeling of isolation,” she said. “It felt like no one was talking to me.... The chitchat ground to a halt. People looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Just a few years ago, Sandberg wrote Lean In, exhorting women to be ambitious, to ask for what they want, to be their full selves at work.  

“Losing Dave brought that home for me,” she said. “My whole self was so sad.”

She found herself increasingly holed up in a conference room with Zuckerberg, hiding from the awkwardness of the office. “Mark was the person I turned to,” Sandberg said. 

Sandberg, who first met Zuckerberg when he was a 23-year-old CEO struggling with his role, has long been credited with guiding him to maturity. But this time he was helping her.

“Mark is one of the first people I called when I lost Dave,” she said. “Mark planned the funeral.” He and his wife, Priscilla, were frequent visitors to Sandberg’s house in Menlo Park during the days and weeks after Goldberg’s death. They played with Sandberg’s kids. Zuckerberg helped her son with his math homework, she said.

At work, Zuckerberg was supportive in a very traditional way, telling Sandberg to take as much time as she needed. But, crucially, he also encouraged her actual work. In one of her first meetings after she returned, Sandberg was a bit out of it, she writes. She even misidentified a colleague, and instead of criticizing her or saying something about how he understands she’s still adjusting, Zuckerberg insisted she would’ve made the mistake before Goldberg died. And, even better, also told her she made a great point in the meeting. In short, he made her feel valued.

Sometimes people just need someone to tell them they’re doing OK, and that is key to helping a colleague in grief, Sandberg said. She wanted to feel like she was still a productive worker. “I had no idea how he knew ― I am older and I didn’t know how to do these things. I don’t think this is me teaching him, it’s him teaching me,” she said.

Typically, no one knows what to say to someone who is suffering a loss or an illness or a trauma, Sandberg said. “You want to silence a room? Get cancer. Have a friend or a family member who goes to prison. Lose a job,” she said. “We isolate ourselves.” 

In her post, Sandberg offered guidance on what to say.

“When people say to me, ‘You and your children will find happiness again,’ my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, ‘You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good’ comfort me more because they know and speak the truth,’” she wrote in her post.

“Even a simple ‘How are you?’—almost always asked with the best of intentions— is better replaced with ‘How are you today?’ When I am asked ‘How are you?’ I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.”

Sandberg was opening up about death in a real way. For many who’ve struggled with grief, to read an honest piece from the accomplished executive, about a subject so taboo and painful, was a revelation. The post today has more than 400,000 shares, close to 1 million likes and tens of thousands of comments.

The effect for Sandberg was immediate, she said. “Everyone started saying, ‘How are you today?’” Sandberg said. People started telling her about their own experiences with loss.

“I felt connected to a larger experience of life. There’s so much hardship out there,” she said. “The grief didn’t change, but the isolation did. I felt so much less alone.”

When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day. Sheryl Sandberg

Like Lean In, the new book is part memoir. She writes of the agony of telling her two young children, just 7 and 10 years old, that their father was dead. “I have terrible news. Terrible,” she told them. “Daddy died.”

“The screaming and crying that followed haunt me to this day,” she writes.

The book is also a practical guide for handling grief and adversity. With her coauthor, and friend, psychologist and Wharton professor Adam Grant, Sandberg lays out anecdotes ― she’s spoken with rape survivors, people who’ve gone to prison, refugees ―  and research on perseverance and resilience.

Acutely aware that she’s a billionaire privileged beyond all imagining, Sandberg is extremely careful to write about the suffering of others. In conversation, she acknowledges her privilege repeatedly. When asked about her struggles to parent as a single mother, she demurred. “So many people have immense hardship.” 

In Sandbergian fashion she has also launched a website, OptionB.org, where people can turn for support and guidance in the face of loss.

Surely, an unintentional side benefit to Sandberg’s latest project is that she’s essentially made the case for Facebook ― it offers human connection ― at a time when the social network is under criticism for increasing political polarization.

The new book and website is an attempt to open up conversations about difficult subjects on a mass scale, furthering Facebook’s ostensible mission.

Sandberg found her husband, already dead, on the floor in a hotel gym in Mexico where the two were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Sandberg had unwittingly spoken her last words to him, “I’m falling asleep,” while laying poolside earlier that day, ending a game of Settlers of Catan they were playing on their iPads. That afternoon she had told her son she’d have to talk to his dad before they could make a decision about buying new sneakers.

An autopsy would later confirm that Goldberg, who was CEO of Survey Monkey and a well-known Silicon Valley figure, had a fatal cardiac arrhythmia, caused by coronary artery disease, while running on the treadmill.

They were married for 11 years; friends for longer than that.  

Now she’s dating again. “I never wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to spend my life with Dave. That’s a choice I don’t get to make.”

Sandberg, who is 47-years-old, used to joke about getting older. No more. “There’s only two choices we grow older or we don’t,” she said. “I took it for granted I would grow old and Dave would grow old. It never occurred to me we wouldn’t,” she said.

Finding growth and ultimately joy is the project of Option B. Sandberg makes a point of emphasizing this aspect. The title echoes something a friend told her after Goldberg’s passing. 

When Sandberg was sad she couldn’t bring Goldberg to a school event and had to find someone else to fill in. “But I want Dave,” she said to her friend, as she recounted in her post and again in the book. “He put his arm around me and said, ‘Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.’ “

A chronic over-achiever, Sandberg has definitely lived up to that plan. After Goldberg’s death, she was just struggling to make it through the day she said. But with this book it’s clear that the Harvard MBA, former Google executive is just as ambitious as ever.

Still, things have changed. Sandberg said she travels much less than she used to. Long gone are the days of hosting women’s dinners at her house, she said. “Dave covered when I would have a women’s dinner,” she said. “I don’t do those things anymore.” But she quickly added: “So many people have so much hardship. That’s not what I mourn for. Of course, I had to make big changes.”

And when asked her about her career goals, she pivoted, saying it’s important to live your dreams and find things you want to do. “Even small silly things,” she said. “I’m a really bad piano player and I sing worse, but in those moments I can’t think about anything else. I won’t pretend the grief doesn’t still hit.”

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2q942Yp

[porchenclose10019]

Why Sheryl Sandberg Decided To Speak Openly About Losing Her Husband

Nearly two years ago, Sheryl Sandberg poured 1,743 words of raw emotion into a Facebook post that essentially made everyone on the internet cry.

Her husband, Dave Goldberg, had died suddenly at the age of 47, not even 30 days earlier. The calendar marked the end of the traditional Jewish mourning period for spouses, but she hardly felt done with grief. Sandberg wasn’t even sure she would hit publish, the Facebook executive told HuffPost last week. She wrote feverishly, put it aside and went to bed.

The post was her desperate attempt to connect with friends and coworkers from whom she felt increasingly isolated in her mourning. “I woke up and thought, this is so bad. And I hit post,” she said.

The writing is pure heartbreak. Sandberg writes over and over about her sadness. About mothering her children while they screamed and cried in pain. “I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser,” she writes. “When tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning.”

Though she didn’t realize it at the time, Sandberg’s essay marked a clear tipping point in her journey back from the hell of a shocking loss. By opening up about her feelings, Sandberg was inviting others to support her ― including colleagues and friends who’d been unsure of what to say. The post offered guidance.

And that guidance formed the basis for Sandberg’s next project. Her latest book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy, out Monday, tackles a universal yet enduringly under-discussed subject: grief.

While her Silicon Valley peers have worked for years on technologies that would extend life, Sandberg’s project offers up a path to happiness based not on fantasies of immortality but on the reality of the sorrow of life itself.

At the time she first posted about Goldberg’s death, Sandberg had already returned to work at Facebook, where she’d been chief operating officer for nearly a decade. She was feeling increasingly lonely.

A notoriously outgoing and collaborative manager, she was surrounded by familiar colleagues and friendly faces. Yet, with the exception of her boss, Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg, no one at the office seemed to know what to say to her. 

“When I came back to work there was a real feeling of isolation,” she said. “It felt like no one was talking to me.... The chitchat ground to a halt. People looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Just a few years ago, Sandberg wrote Lean In, exhorting women to be ambitious, to ask for what they want, to be their full selves at work.  

“Losing Dave brought that home for me,” she said. “My whole self was so sad.”

She found herself increasingly holed up in a conference room with Zuckerberg, hiding from the awkwardness of the office. “Mark was the person I turned to,” Sandberg said. 

Sandberg, who first met Zuckerberg when he was a 23-year-old CEO struggling with his role, has long been credited with guiding him to maturity. But this time he was helping her.

“Mark is one of the first people I called when I lost Dave,” she said. “Mark planned the funeral.” He and his wife, Priscilla, were frequent visitors to Sandberg’s house in Menlo Park during the days and weeks after Goldberg’s death. They played with Sandberg’s kids. Zuckerberg helped her son with his math homework, she said.

At work, Zuckerberg was supportive in a very traditional way, telling Sandberg to take as much time as she needed. But, crucially, he also encouraged her actual work. In one of her first meetings after she returned, Sandberg was a bit out of it, she writes. She even misidentified a colleague, and instead of criticizing her or saying something about how he understands she’s still adjusting, Zuckerberg insisted she would’ve made the mistake before Goldberg died. And, even better, also told her she made a great point in the meeting. In short, he made her feel valued.

Sometimes people just need someone to tell them they’re doing OK, and that is key to helping a colleague in grief, Sandberg said. She wanted to feel like she was still a productive worker. “I had no idea how he knew ― I am older and I didn’t know how to do these things. I don’t think this is me teaching him, it’s him teaching me,” she said.

Typically, no one knows what to say to someone who is suffering a loss or an illness or a trauma, Sandberg said. “You want to silence a room? Get cancer. Have a friend or a family member who goes to prison. Lose a job,” she said. “We isolate ourselves.” 

In her post, Sandberg offered guidance on what to say.

“When people say to me, ‘You and your children will find happiness again,’ my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, ‘You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good’ comfort me more because they know and speak the truth,’” she wrote in her post.

“Even a simple ‘How are you?’—almost always asked with the best of intentions— is better replaced with ‘How are you today?’ When I am asked ‘How are you?’ I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.”

Sandberg was opening up about death in a real way. For many who’ve struggled with grief, to read an honest piece from the accomplished executive, about a subject so taboo and painful, was a revelation. The post today has more than 400,000 shares, close to 1 million likes and tens of thousands of comments.

The effect for Sandberg was immediate, she said. “Everyone started saying, ‘How are you today?’” Sandberg said. People started telling her about their own experiences with loss.

“I felt connected to a larger experience of life. There’s so much hardship out there,” she said. “The grief didn’t change, but the isolation did. I felt so much less alone.”

When I hear ‘How are you today?’ I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day. Sheryl Sandberg

Like Lean In, the new book is part memoir. She writes of the agony of telling her two young children, just 7 and 10 years old, that their father was dead. “I have terrible news. Terrible,” she told them. “Daddy died.”

“The screaming and crying that followed haunt me to this day,” she writes.

The book is also a practical guide for handling grief and adversity. With her coauthor, and friend, psychologist and Wharton professor Adam Grant, Sandberg lays out anecdotes ― she’s spoken with rape survivors, people who’ve gone to prison, refugees ―  and research on perseverance and resilience.

Acutely aware that she’s a billionaire privileged beyond all imagining, Sandberg is extremely careful to write about the suffering of others. In conversation, she acknowledges her privilege repeatedly. When asked about her struggles to parent as a single mother, she demurred. “So many people have immense hardship.” 

In Sandbergian fashion she has also launched a website, OptionB.org, where people can turn for support and guidance in the face of loss.

Surely, an unintentional side benefit to Sandberg’s latest project is that she’s essentially made the case for Facebook ― it offers human connection ― at a time when the social network is under criticism for increasing political polarization.

The new book and website is an attempt to open up conversations about difficult subjects on a mass scale, furthering Facebook’s ostensible mission.

Sandberg found her husband, already dead, on the floor in a hotel gym in Mexico where the two were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Sandberg had unwittingly spoken her last words to him, “I’m falling asleep,” while laying poolside earlier that day, ending a game of Settlers of Catan they were playing on their iPads. That afternoon she had told her son she’d have to talk to his dad before they could make a decision about buying new sneakers.

An autopsy would later confirm that Goldberg, who was CEO of Survey Monkey and a well-known Silicon Valley figure, had a fatal cardiac arrhythmia, caused by coronary artery disease, while running on the treadmill.

They were married for 11 years; friends for longer than that.  

Now she’s dating again. “I never wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to spend my life with Dave. That’s a choice I don’t get to make.”

Sandberg, who is 47-years-old, used to joke about getting older. No more. “There’s only two choices we grow older or we don’t,” she said. “I took it for granted I would grow old and Dave would grow old. It never occurred to me we wouldn’t,” she said.

Finding growth and ultimately joy is the project of Option B. Sandberg makes a point of emphasizing this aspect. The title echoes something a friend told her after Goldberg’s passing. 

When Sandberg was sad she couldn’t bring Goldberg to a school event and had to find someone else to fill in. “But I want Dave,” she said to her friend, as she recounted in her post and again in the book. “He put his arm around me and said, ‘Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.’ “

A chronic over-achiever, Sandberg has definitely lived up to that plan. After Goldberg’s death, she was just struggling to make it through the day she said. But with this book it’s clear that the Harvard MBA, former Google executive is just as ambitious as ever.

Still, things have changed. Sandberg said she travels much less than she used to. Long gone are the days of hosting women’s dinners at her house, she said. “Dave covered when I would have a women’s dinner,” she said. “I don’t do those things anymore.” But she quickly added: “So many people have so much hardship. That’s not what I mourn for. Of course, I had to make big changes.”

And when asked her about her career goals, she pivoted, saying it’s important to live your dreams and find things you want to do. “Even small silly things,” she said. “I’m a really bad piano player and I sing worse, but in those moments I can’t think about anything else. I won’t pretend the grief doesn’t still hit.”

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