Most of what I do
goes on and on
and on
and
on

The search for right work
the path to self-knowledge
the cultivation of compassion

On and on
into motherfucking
infinity
and will do so
until the clock is stopped
on my heart
or my brain,
whichever comes first.

So some of what I do
must be carved
into finite bits:
the dishes
the dinner
the laundry
the bills

I will do them again,
of course.
Nothing is finite
from far enough back
but more an illusion
I conjure
to keep from going mad
with the bigness of it all

But for now
I will pretend
that it is just this sink full of dishes
this pot of soup
these two loads
this one bill
and cross them off my list,
one
by
one
in mental red pen.

Maybe a thing done well
mostly, a thing done, period.

One needs the closure
when one trucks in ellipses…

xxx
c

Image by vmiramontes via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The class I’m taking around dealing with my money issues continues to amaze me for a variety of reasons.

The first is this whole “all roads lead to Rome” thing. Yes, it’s nominally a class about money, but as Mark himself says, we can use the basic exercises we’re learning in our odyssey with money and apply them to pretty much any stumbling block or confounding problem we have. (Obviously, this is not a class where double-entry accounting and Excel spreadsheets figure prominently.)

The second is the profound level of support I’m feeling, both from the way the class and its surrounding activities are structured and from my fellow classmates. Every week, we’re partnered up with someone so that we can practice the exercises we’re learning on our own time and strengthen those muscles. Not only have I been matched with extraordinary partners for these two weeks so far, but when a future partner bailed for some reason, I had a host of people swoop down and offer to help me that week. All but one of whom did not know me from Adam. Pretty extraordinary.

But the thing that really has my head swimming right now is a central question that keeps getting asked of us over and over as we move through some of this difficult, swamplike territory we’re navigating: what if it was okay?

What if, for example, it was okay that you were a crumpled heap of a poopy mess just thinking about what how money had leveled your family and laid decades of your life to waste? What if you could just let that be, and notice it, and not try to jump in and fix it?

What if you could just be a hot mess?

Not forever, maybe, but right now? What would happen if you could step back and just look at something under a particular kind of light—a loving light, in this case; a Light, if you will.

What would happen if there was room in your heart for the twin notions that everything was completely effin’ fakata right now, and that someday, it might not be?

What would happen if you could start a project not knowing where it might take you? Or if you could even take an action, not knowing if it would become a project?

What if? What then?

It’s funny: I signed up for a class about money; it seems I ended up taking one in the wonders of unconditional love…

xxx
c

Image by Rob Lee via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Everyone’s style of learning is different, but the people who seem to be able to teach me the stuff that not only compels, but sticks, are the ones who know their stuff, but embody it as well.

Jonathan Fields is one of those walk-the-talk people, and I think it’s no small part of his crazy success both as a serial entrepreneur and a leader of other would-be (and in-transition) fellow travelers. Better still, he’s got a great sense of style and a fine way with words, including being able to arrange them in ways that make me laugh: no mean feat when the subject is business (although ironically, all the more necessary, if you ask me).

His book, Career Renegade: How to Make a Great Living Doing What You Love, reads like his blog, tone-wise. It’s full of great stories that illuminate his points, told in a no-nonsense, light-hearted way that makes the material go down easy. Chucking the paradigm can be scary stuff, but the way Fields positions it, it seems like the simplest, most logical thing in the world. And while he never sugar-coats it, by breaking the process down into logical, step-by-step possibilities and components, he does make it seem do-able. Which it is, by the way.

Fields draws on his own rich history, sharing the methods he used to segue out of corporate law and into—yes, really—life as a personal trainer, then yoga school owner, then writer/speaker/coach. The book is crazy-packed with resources, lists, links, and even business ideas, plus ways of coming up with more. It’s not quite as expansive as another recent book in the category, Pamela Slim’s Escape from Cubicle Nation, but it’s an equally excellent resource as a hit-the-ground-running guide, and will be especially treasured by those who like their information lean, keen and utterly fat-free. (Kind of like Jonathan!) You can download the introduction to the book for free at his website, and sample his writing for yourself.

Full disclosure: I’m friendly with the author, having spent a passel of time with him at the last South by Southwest Interactive Conference in Austin. In fact, he kicked my winded, out-of-shape ass on a power walk back from a South Congress dinner to our downtown hotels. But the way I see it, it’s just a way of confirming that not only is the voice you read in the book absolutely the guy you’d meet in person, but also that he knows his stuff inside and out. Because that was one long walk, brother, and no one could vamp on b.s. the entire way, especially with someone like me pummeling them with questions.

Finally, if you’re not ready to jump yet, the book offers a wealth of information on technical stuff to set up pre-jump, like getting started with blogging, understanding social media from a marketing perspective and how to start developing content for potential revenue streams. Again, it’s at the overview level, but it’s a good, comprehensive overview, with plenty of resources should you want to explore anything else at a deeper level. I’ve been at this crazy game since 1992—and online since 2004—and I picked up several pieces of good advice worth the cost of the book. (Which, full disclosure, I actually paid for! And I’m cheap!)

xxx
c

• Read Jonathan Fields’ blog, Awake at the Wheel
• Buy Career Renegade on Amazon

Image by Wendy Piersall (@eMom) via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

I have friends who claim not to count envy among their personal challenges, and I have had them long enough to know that they’re telling the truth. I still look at them a little bit like I imagine a psychopath must view normal people with their normal emotions: That’s interesting, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. (And, in the case of the psychopath, “Now I’m going to eat/murder/rob you.”) But I’m coming along—really, I am!

One reason is that while I suspect that envy and jealousy have, at this point, been baked in as reactive modes, I’ve found what’s become a sort of curious end-run around them.

Oh, good: that thing is done.

As in, thank GOD. Now I don’t have to worry about painting that picture, composing that opera, writing that sentence, delivering that joke; someone has taken care of that for me. Now I am free to do whatever it is I need to do next, or one of these other eleventy-seven billion things on my to-do list. That other thing. Thank you, Person I Might Otherwise Have Felt Jealous Toward; thank you for that kindness.

A couple of things to note about this newish-to-me way of thinking:

First, it is collaborative. Historically, I’ve looked at the world as this gigantic blank space I’m supposed to paint all by myself, and at a Sistine Chapel ceiling-level, not a Navajo-white, rented-apartment-wall-level. Lately, I’ve been noticing how much easier and more fun it is when I share the work and the credit. Sure, my heart just seized up writing those last two words, but that’s conditioning for you.

Second, it comes hard on the heels of my participation in two highly successful and significantly collaborative ventures: co-hosting the wonderful monthly Biznik meetups with the charming Heather Parlato and co-facilitating the amazing first PresentationCamp here in Los Angeles with the amazing Cliff Atkinson and the equally amazing Lisa Braithwaite. I threw myself into the former not knowing I needed help, but astounded by how much easier and more enjoyable everything was for everyone, myself included, when I was not running around like a chicken with my head cut off. And I signed on to the latter not knowing I’d get volunteered for my least-favorite thing—ASKING STRANGERS FOR MONEY ON THE TELEPHONE—then astounding myself by the reasonably capable job I managed to do. With help. Of course.

If you have no problems with envy or jealousy, good for you! And yes, I envy you for your lack of them! You’re probably already so fluid and open, you’ve figured out five ways to apply the lessons I’ve learned in ways I have yet to dream of. (I know you’ll share them, because that’s how you roll.)

If you’re like me, and have the occasional tussle with the green-eyed monster, give this “Oh, good; that’s done!” thing a try. I’d be interested to hear if it works for anyone else…

xxx
c

Image by r’Eyes via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Referral Friday is part of an ongoing series inspired by John Jantsch’s Make-a-Referral Week. For more about that—and loads more referrals for everything from cobblers to coaches to gee-tar teachers, start here. Pass it on, baby!

For the first two and a half years I was on the Specific Carbohydrate Diet, I was very, very good. Which is to say, I was, in the parlance of Elaine Gottschall and hard-core SCD-ers, a fanatical adherent.

That meant many, many things were out, both in their whole form—rice, sugar, wheat (although who the hell wants to munch on wheat is beyond me)—and, worse, as trace elements: the fillers, extenders, and sweeteners that make life both delicious and convenient, albeit frequently unhealthy.

Coffee was entirely out, as the only acceptable forms of it and its caffeinated cousin, tea, were “black” and “weak.” I’m fine with the former but sweet mother of pearl, what is the point of weak coffee except as some kind of ingenious torture? No, I switched immediately to black tea with honey, and then spent the next two and a half years looking for the best-tasting variety of each.

Thanks to The BF and his own interesting travels, I discovered Barry’s.

Deeply Irish, with some of the ugliest packaging this side of a tampon box, Barry’s is everything a tea should be: robust, clean and emphatic, even at the low volumes an SCDer is forced to enjoy it at. At full strength, it would likely kick your sorry ass all the way to Killarney, even as it had you boo-hooing for more. Barry’s is EFFIN’ DELICIOUS, my friend, and highly addictive.

Yes, you will have your fancy types talking up PG Tips (or yer hoi polloi insisting that grocery store-available Twinings is so refined). Smile, and let them. Only turn on your bestest of friends to the Barry’s, and they will speak your name with the hushed tones of wonder and adoration usually reserved for saints and Malcolm Gladwell, pre-Outliers. (Oh, like you didn’t know he’d tipped.)

If you live in a big and bustling metropolis, I urge you to seek out your local purveyor of imported Irish (and sometimes English) goods. I buy mine from the lovely ladies at the Irish Import Shop here in Los Angeles—two boxes of Classic Blend at a time, since the hardnoses refuse to accept my Mastercard for purchases under $10, no matter how much business I bring their way.

You can also purchase from them online, which I highly recommend, as then their brick-and-mortar shop with its fresh, fresh bounty will stay in bidness. Or, if you have a thing for Amazon and skipping sales tax, well, at least you can buy your Barry’s through this link and net me a few pennies into the bargain.

Cheers!

xxx
c

• Buy your Barry’s at the Irish Import Shop
• Buy your Barry’s via Amazon (affiliate link!)
• Buy your Barry’s at the Barry’s site

Image by malias via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.