Power and Passion (8 page)

The first-page headline, above the fold,
read: "Joan Harrison: On Top of the Nonprofit World."

And that was when Sara smiled. Suddenly she
had her answer.

H
ome at last. Joan loved the work she did,
about that there was no doubt. But there was still nothing quite
like walking into her apartment in the evening, kicking off her
shoes, and receiving a kiss—and, on some nights, a glass of
wine—from her husband, David. Tonight it was the latter. She had
fielded so many phone calls and done so many interviews about the
award she had won; all she wanted to do was curl up on the sofa,
watch TV, have a drink, and relax.

"So how was your day?" asked David as they
settled on opposite ends of the comfy, beige-leather sectional in
the living room. Joan loved the setup in that room—the L-shaped
sofa wrapping around with plenty of pillows, a lush, white rug, and
dark-wood furnishings. Windows lined the walls so she could see the
darkening sky outside. The lamps in the room were set on dim,
creating a cozy, sleepy atmosphere.

She looked at David, and he smiled at her.
Joan smiled back. He looked so tired too. He always put in long
days at his job as an architectural consultant, most of them spent
traveling around the region to see building sites or meet and
advise new or existing clients. Sometimes he and Joan saw one
another for only a few minutes before heading out in the morning
and a few more at night before falling exhausted into bed.

But neither was ever one to complain. In his
own way David loved his work just as much as Joan loved hers. Their
goals were, of course, completely different—his more capitalistic,
hers entirely altruistic—but fundamentally they shared the same
values and outlook on life. Their professional goals were
essentially the same—to use their expertise, experience, and
creativity for constructive and productive purposes—as were their
personal goals, which at this stage in their life consisted of
enjoying the time they spent together (and making sure they
did
spend time together regularly), always striving to
maintain a positive outlook, and staying involved in their
children's and grandchildren's lives despite the distance between
them. Dubai had been good to Joan and David, but they missed their
families and still thought of the States as "back home."

"Busy." That was all Joan could reply. She
took a sip of her wine and closed her eyes as the tart acidity of
it hit her throat. "Ah, you know how it is. I'm grateful I won the
award, but there's always so much follow-up involved. I'd rather be
out in the field."

David nodded. He always understood. They had
been married for so long—what was it, thirty-one years now?
Thirty-two?—that they barely had to tell one another how they felt
anymore. They simply knew. Still Joan looked forward to sharing her
thoughts with him at the end of the day. Verbal communication is so
integral to human interaction, she thought; there was just
something about the sound of her husband's voice that soothed her
even on the worst days. They were always so open with one another,
willing to discuss anything and everything that was on their minds
without erupting into raging, mean arguments.

Joan knew this was why their marriage was so
strong and why it had lasted for so long. People often asked her
what their secret was, and she had many replies: keeping a sense of
humor, facing adversity together, being kind to each other… But in
fact there was no magic bullet. Marriage was and would always be a
day-by-day process of give and take, a balancing act between one's
wants and another's needs and, above all, learning to compromise.
Joan and David worked on their marriage every moment they were
together, and, most importantly, they never took each other for
granted.

"Do you want to take some time off?" he
asked then. "Maybe go away for the weekend?"

Joan grinned. Once again David had read her
mind. Their regular getaway spot was the Jumeirah Beach Hotel, a
five-star resort they managed to visit once a month or so. Joan
just loved the place; the building itself was shaped just like an
ocean wave, and the service was impeccable. She and David would
spend entire days just lounging under an umbrella on the golden
sands of the resort's private beach, gazing at the clean,
clear-blue water. They would swim a little and read a little, and
the hotel staff would bring them cocktails and fresh juices and
towels. For dinner they would head to one of the hotel's
restaurants—the Arabic Al Khayal, where a belly dancer was always
performing, or to La Parilla for some Latin American cuisine, live
music, and tango dancers. Afterward they might go to the Uptown Bar
on the twenty-fourth floor to listen to the piano player and take
in the view of the Burj Al Arab hotel and Dubai's striking skyline.
Then there was the spa, the sports, the amazing breakfasts… Just
the thought of going lifted Joan's spirits.

"Absolutely," she replied and clinked her
wine glass against David's.

He took a sip then said, "I'll make the
reservations in the morning."

"Thank you, dear," Joan replied and reached
out to squeeze his hand. Just as she touched him, the phone rang,
the shrill sound filling the quiet room. Joan and David glanced at
one another, each with an eyebrow raised. The phone seemed always
to be ringing in their home, usually business calls for one or the
other of them or their children and grandchildren giving them a
ring. Joan put down her wine on the glass-topped coffee table and
stood up, hoping it would be the latter this time.

"Hello?" she answered. There was a silent
pause. She was about to repeat her greeting when she heard a
tentative female voice speak.

"Hi, is this Joan? Joan Harrison?"

"Yes, it is," Joan replied as she walked
back over to the sofa with the phone. She took a seat once again
next to David, who watched her, waiting to find out who it was.
Joan shrugged. She had no idea just from the sound of the
voice.

"Hello, Joan, my name is Sara Sharif. How
are you today?" Joan smiled, easing back against the soft couch.
This habit of people in the region—this small talk they made
whenever they met or spoke—had been new to her when she had moved
there. Back where she was from in the States, everyone asked, "How
are you?" but no one ever really replied. It was an empty opener, a
rhetorical question just to get a conversation started. Here the
inquiries were real, and there was a great sense of people truly
caring about one another whether they knew each other or not. It
was refreshing to say the least, and it still pleased Joan to that
day.

"I'm doing very well," she replied. "Just
getting home from a long day at work. And yourself?"

"I am doing quite well also," Sara replied,
and Joan could hear the warmth in her voice—along with something
familiar, though she couldn't quite place it yet. "Still at work,
in fact. Which is the reason I am calling you, Joan. I work for the
Special Olympics, and I am in a bit of a bind trying to figure out
the logistics of planning an event I wish to hold. Please, would
you have a few minutes to answer some questions for me?"

Joan gazed out the window as she listened to
Sara speak. Answer some questions? Sure, that part was just fine
with her. Joan had been in the nonprofit business a long time, and
she often received calls from people in newer or startup companies
wanting to pick her brain regarding business models, funding, and
the like.

"Well, sure," she replied, her eyes still on
the beautiful pink and orange hues as the sun set on the horizon.
"Might I ask first, though, how you got my number?"

"Oh, dear! Forgive me!" Sara sounded quite
alarmed. "I should have mentioned that first. We met some time ago
at a Sheikh Mohammad bin Rashid Al Maktoum Foundation event."

Joan looked absently around the room as she
thought. Met at an event for the sheikh's foundation? That didn't
ring any bells. She went to so many fundraisers, galas, parties,
meet and greets, you name it, and she had probably put in an
appearance there. She was usually okay with names and faces, but
she simply could not place this one.

"And for a while after that," Sara went on,
"we talked about a possible joint project between our
organizations. But at the time it was not meant to be." She laughed
a little. "You were very busy, and I know you are now as well. I've
seen you on TV and in the papers. Congratulations on your latest
award by the way."

"Oh,
Sara
," Joan said, sitting up in
her seat. "Yes, now I remember you. You're an event planner, and we
were talking about bringing in some Hearts and Minds advertising at
some of your local events."

"Yes." Sara sounded just as pleased as Joan
felt to finally make this connection.

"Thank you for the congratulations," Joan
added. "It's an honor to be noticed for the work we do. Anyway, how
have you been, Sara? Are you still with SO?"

"Yes, I am. Still the events coordinator.
And that brings me to why I'm calling. As I said before, I have an
event in mind that I would like to plan, but I find myself in
somewhat uncharted territory here." She paused for a moment. "I'm
afraid I'm not receiving much support for this idea from my
colleagues. So I thought perhaps you could give me some
advice."

"Oh, by all means," Joan said, waving to
David and blowing him a kiss as he quietly excused himself—probably
to go start dinner. "I'm sorry you're not getting the help you
need."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Sara was quick to
say. "My coworkers are wonderful people, very dedicated to our
cause. But this idea I have…well, it is a bit of a reach for us.
May I explain it then you can tell me what you think?"

"Of course, of course." Joan reached out for
her wine glass and settled back again. Sara went on to describe her
idea that would help raise awareness and funds for SO— the gala
fundraiser, the food and music, the dancing, the auctions. It all
sounded wonderful, rather like some of the events Joan had been to
back home and in that region.

"Sounds like something I would like to
attend," she told Sara with a laugh. "So what problems are you
running into?"

Sara sighed. Joan could hear all the
weariness she felt in it. "Well, at first I was concerned about
money. But then my—well, a generous backer basically offered to
write me a check to cover whatever it might cost. So then I took
the idea to my boss and a couple other staff people in my office."
"And that was where you hit resistance?" Joan had seen this time
and again, albeit from a different perspective. How often had her
younger employees come to her with enthusiasm in their eyes,
wanting to tell her about a brilliant new plan they had cooked up
overnight? And how often had she reluctantly shot them down? So
often she had wanted to tell them, "Go ahead. Take this idea of
yours and run with it," but there was so much more to it than that.
Not only was there money to consider—though if Sara had that
covered, she had already fought half the battle.

There were all the aspects Joan was sure
Sara's boss had given her the rundown on: logistics, manpower, and,
in her case, corporate interest. Joan was fortunate in that she was
the top of the line where she worked—no parent company to report
to, no executives to approve her requests. At Special Olympics,
however, she imagined Sara was perhaps midway up the chain of
command. No doubt she would one day be farther up, even at the top.
She seemed like a real go-getter, a woman who knew what she wanted
and was accustomed to making things happen. But for the time being,
she was obviously having difficulty getting this plan of hers off
the ground.

"Yes," Sara replied. She sounded so sad and
almost defeated. "My superior, she wants to help. At least she said
she did, and she is always honest with me. I believe she was
interested in the idea. I understand the difficulty we would have
getting the organization to go for it, though."

"Yes, I understand that too," Joan replied a
bit absently as the wheels in her mind began to turn at a rapid
pace. "So what sort of advice are you looking for?" she asked,
although she already had quite a few things lined up to tell
Sara.

Sara laughed now, the sound of it light and
airy despite her somewhat downcast demeanor. "Anything you can tell
me," she replied. "I don't know…I just thought given your
experience, you might be able to help. Do you think it is possible
to do such a thing even when the company might not back it at
first? Is there a way for me to convince the Special Olympics
executives that this is a worthy project?"

"Of course it's worthy," Joan said
immediately. "There is nothing wrong with wanting to bring
attention to your cause and, in the process, earning it some
funding. I think it's a fantastic idea."