Category: Posts (Page 1 of 33)

Who Are You Inviting To Your Greatest Performance?

Isn’t it funny how often we won’t do something or make changes until something pushes us to re-evaluate?

After months of chatting with my SPIRLBFF about where we wanted our lives to be, I resolved on Memorial Day weekend to make some changes in my life.

The biggest of the changes so far is my decision to move to San Francisco in January.

Oh, did I not mention that sooner?  đŸ˜‰

Between having a bunch of clients, colleagues and friends in the Bay Area, the possibility of transferring out to UC Berkeley to finish my English degree as a CA resident ($20K tuition difference WHAT?!), finally feeling the tug of wanting a desperately needed BIG change of life, and the promise of no-snow-winters, the decision was practically made for me.

But this isn’t really about my decision to move. 

It all started when I read Sam Davidson’s new book for a review over on Forbes.com (and because he is easily one of my Top 20 favorite humans on the internet). Not the “sell everything and convince yourself you are free and complete” stories that tend to float around, in the book he talks about simplifying your life by making conscious choices about where you spend your time/money/energy/life.

Then I read a post by my friend Lael Jepson about carefully choosing the people you offer a front row seat to the grand performance that is your life.

The perfect storm that swirled in my brain suddenly flashed into a serene scene that was vividly clear:

I only have 6 months left to spend with the people that matter to me in Maine.

Now let me be clear, I am fully aware of the fact that I am not falling off the face of the Earth never to return to the East Coast again. There are people who live that life sentence and I am VERY fortunate to not be one of them. The phone and internet still work in San Francisco and planes still fly West to East as well as East to West.

When your realizations are forced and you have to carefully consider your choices, those choices suddenly matter that much more.

I’m not actively shunning people or anything.

I am actively selecting people that I value (who value me back) to get a front row pass to the limited engagement of time I’ve allotted myself.

As Sam would say, we don’t need unvisited or former friends.

I think that if people add me to their online site-world-place-thing, they want to be actual friends. I don’t stop to think about the fact that they probably just want to see my pictures or add to their counts or ask me “a quick favor.” I try to value the relationship, and then I’m hurt when I realize they obviously didn’t really care in the first place.

Same happens in the 3-dimensional plane as well. Friends who live less than a mile who complain that they never see you anymore or only find time to reach out when they want something.  Phones dial out the same way they receive calls and cars travel to where I am the same way that my car travels to where friends live.

Social engagements with people who don’t even reply to my Tweets and networking events with people who want to pick my brain (for free) about how to chase their dreams and offer nothing in return have tumbled headlong down the massive Chutes’n’Ladders board slide that is my life.

My friend Chris is spending 2011 writing a personal message to each and every single one of his Facebook friends telling them why they are his “friend.” I anxiously counted down the days (he is daily going through his friends alphabetically, and since I’m a genius the math was pretty easy) until mine appeared.

Elisa: The entire time I’ve known you, you’ve always been one of the friendliest and most creative people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Just scan through Ophelia’s Webb, a shining example of everything you can accomplish when you put your mind to something. Always kind and approachable, I’m glad we’re friends, and here’s to all your success!

Shit like that makes someone matter.

Sure, it feels good to hear nice things (I’m not an idiot, I know that this is totally inflating my slightly-out-of-control ego) but it also makes me realize that Chris values my friendship. For that and much more, I value his.

You know what that means?

BAM! Front row ticket. Right there. 

Friendship, especially in this modern world of Face-Tweeting-Plus, is such a delicate and beautiful gift to give. It is one of the things that should matter in the beginning, middle and end. Not just at the time.

Yet it is precious.

Friendship is a small piece of you, sliced out of your chest and offered humbly with reckless abandon.

It is important to make sure that before you maim yourself, you are slicing your heart up carefully.

Hand out your pieces and front row tickets to those that will realize the precious gift that they are receiving.

Photo Credit: Flickr

‘Twas The Night Before An Entrepreneur’s Christmas

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Twas the night before an entrepreneur’s Christmas, when all through the ‘Haus

Not a creature was stirring, except for my mouse.

The white boards were hung by the laptops with care,

In hopes that productivity soon would be there.

The tweets were nestled all snug in their threads,

While visions of viral sharing danced in our heads.

And my developer with her white noise, and I with my rap,

Had just rebuilding our brand new site-map.

When out in the common room there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.

Away to the beverage cart I flew like a flash,

Tore open the drink pod before I might crash.

The moon on the hot desk of the new worker’s co

Reminded me that mid-day was too many hours ago.

When, what to my screen-weary eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

He works one night a year, it must be St Nick.

More rapid than SSD his teammates they came,

And he hustled, and motivated, calling their name!

“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the check-in desk! to the top of fame wall!

If I can dash away, you can dash away! We’ll dash away all!”

As bloggers and speakers that upsell on high,

When they meet with an obstacle, bend the truth, never lie.

So up to third floor the workers they flew,

With the sleigh full o’tech toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in exhaustion, I heard on the roof

The distraction and pounding of each little hoof.

As gulped down my caffeine, and was turning around,

Down the elevator shaft St Nick came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

I stared at my hoodie and sweatpants, sternly off put.

A bundle of devices were flung on his back,

He looked like an Apple dealer, opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! Even sober he’s merry!

His cheeks were like roses, he must not eat dairy!

His hard little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

Next to his work ethic, I stood like a schmoe.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

Psychedelic-smoke encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a happy round belly,

This man obvs ate often, things like bowlfuls of jelly!

He was healthy and rested, a right jolly old elf,

And I cried when I saw him, in spite of myself!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Made me stop in my tracks — “Why aren’t I in bed?”

He spoke not a word, I looked back at my work work,

Wondered what I was doing, staying here like a jerk.

And laying my fingers on the bridge of my nose,

St. Nick gave me a nod, time for laptops to close!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave the high sign,

Away they all flew, knowing delivered’s better than fine.

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

“Get out of the office, you deserve time tonight!”

Berry Pavlova

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I was supposed to make a berry pavlova for my family for Christmas dinner this past year.

Basically, this is a wondrous meringue and berry dessert (pudding, shout out for our UK folks!) that I make with a whisky whipped cream.

Funny thing with meringue is, you can’t rush it. Seems like the easiest dish in the world, whip egg whites and sugar together for a really frickin’ long time, savour the goodness after it bakes. But if you don’t whip the egg whites long enough, the meringue isn’t firm enough to hold up, and turns into a skating rink of possibly edible goo.

Last time I made it, I hand whipped the egg whites, which meant it definitely didn’t get firm enough for a wreath, but somehow made it to sheet form for our last pub quiz of the year (and my going away night.)

This time, I thought the luxury of an electric whisk would make it easier.

Boy, was I wrong.

I started spooning the meringue, and realized it was firm enough. But I was in a rush, so I poured it onto a sheet, hoping it would at least hold up. Most of my sister’s baking sheets don’t have sides, so the mix dripped and dropped off the side like a sticky waterfall. I messily transferred the parchment to the smaller baking sheet with sides.

After baking the meringue for an hour and leaving it in the over for an hour, I took it out, and went to flip the sheet to cover it with Scottish whisky whipped cream, an attempt to keep a small piece of the plans I had to be in Scotland for the holidays alive and happy. But the meringue had not set, and we could not peel the baking paper off.

I looked at my sister and tossed it in the trash, angrily with frustration. She put her arm around my should and told me “It’s ok. Sometimes, when I’m baking, I want something to turn out one way, and it just doesn’t work out the way I planned. You can always make another.”

For anyone who read my 2017 annual review post, this was the second time in 2017 I collapsed on my sister sobbing. “That’s been my entire 2017!”

Needless to say, this article, which has been going like hotcakes in the newsfeeds and shares this week, definitely resonated with me. Probably because it combines writing and the widely popular show about British people baking.

I’m always really interested in articles that take every day experiences and teach us about writing and creativity through their lessons.

It makes the breakdowns in kitchens over spilled milk and soggy meringues a little more bearable.

I Think You’re A Pretty Good Writer…But Do You?

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I watched an interesting conversation unfold on Twitter a few weeks ago, after Roxanne Gay retweeted a status from Kima Jones, where they were talking about how frustrating it is as an editor to tell people you want to work with them and have them “aww-shucks” their replies, decorated with insecurity.

Now Gay and Jones are two women of colour in publishing who have talked  very publicly about how much of their career has been spent being told “no.” So I did what I normally don’t do in situations like this, and I clicked through to read the replies and comments.

This isn’t about women or women of colour in the publishing industry (cause holy hell, that’s a deep rabbit hole to tumble down).

It’s about what you are doing wrong when you send submissions and pitches to editors.

Cause hooooo-doggies, is this one a frustration for me.

For those of you who have more sense and time, and didn’t click through on the link, it was Jones basically saying, “If someone gives you the opportunity, says they want you to write for them or proceed with a submission—BELIEVE THEM. Cause I don’t have time or energy to be your editorial spirit and life guide.”

I get it. I really get it.

It’s hard to put your writing (and, as an extension, yourself) out there for a publication or website to approve or reject.

When it is your own site or Medium or similar, there’s absolutely apprehension; but at the end of the day, you can publish whatever you want to post.

If you are working with an editor or publication or content manager or website, that’s hella scary!

The temptation is there to seek the positive reinforcement and nurture from an editor to soothe your anxiety and fear.

That’s not what they are there for.

Sure, as editors, part of our job is holding a writer’s hand and gently shoving nudging them through the publishing process.

When you tell us that you aren’t sure you are good enough, need to ask 27 zillion tiny clarifications before even getting started, and question our expertise and skill in choosing you in the first place…it makes editors…angry.

The backlash on the thread was surprising, to say the least. I didn’t really think her comments were all that harsh, but apparently a lot of people feel it is part of an editor’s job to foster a writer’s confidence.

A good editor will do that for you.

But it definitely isn’t their job. Their job is to find great writing and get it published.

If they can build you up along the way, that is awesome. Yet it isn’t a guarantee.

Go out there, pitch your face off, land great gigs, and know that you are good enough to do it.

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