Your Courageous Life

Have you ever just had a haircut or a new outfit that just made you feel like the biggest, sassiest rockstar? Like you could walk into any room and feel really full-on fantastic, and not in that “I’m posturing to appear better than you kind of way,” but moreso in that “I feel like a million bucks and it shows!” kind of way?

For me, that is not a haircut or an outfit–it’s a color.

Lately, I am addicted to this sort of turquoise color. It started this past summer in Italy. I was going to allow myself to buy summer clothes, and I found this store called Promod. This color was everywhere, and I had made this new rule that I would only wear clothing if something in me said, “YES” when I saw it and then “YES” when I tried it on. No more buying the black cardigan because “it will work with so many outfits.” (!!!)

This color, again and again and again, was a “YES” color for me. I even randomly found it in coat form when I did a Google search for “coats lined with Thinsulate.” I was hardly expecting to find a.) a coat with Thinsulate and b.) a coat in MY COLOR, but here it is. (You may need to actually select the blue chip once this page loads to see a picture).

I find that when I wear this color, I feel like a million bucks, and it shows (oooh, but all of the critters come up when I type that, all of the brain-fucking about how it’s arrogant or who the hell are you to…? and all of that stuff. So, I’ll challenge myself not to hit the delete key…)

Is it just me, or has there been more than the normal amount of people saying that 2009 was a sucky year, and they’re glad to see it gone? I feel like I’ve seen a lot more of that on Facebook than I remember seeing in the past. I think 2009 was, for me, one of those BIG GROWTH years. There are those years where I’m treading water, or those years where everything’s easy, or those years where things majorly suck (!), but for me, 2009 was one of those years where I was just pushed right up against all what I’m comfortable with, and challenged to see if I could take it in a different direction, to grow.

It has been a year of letting go of So. Much. Resistance. to living bigger. What I mean when I say that is that I have felt the inspiration, motivation, and desire to just drop all of the muck, the “but I don’t feeeeel like it” stuff, the conflict. I am more willing than ever to do the uncomfortable work now rather than clean up a mess later. I am more willing than ever to own my part.

As 2009 winds to a close, what I find myself thinking of more than anything are three topics:

1.) Friendships lost. Why they were lost. How a part of me is still sad. How another part of me totally lets go. Where I’m noticing I don’t feel as connected now–why is that? What’s my part? And when I do feel total connection with someone, what’s the alchemy of that?

2.) Curiosity–what does life look like when I rearrange it so differently? What does life look like when I am totally steering the ship?

3.) Astonishment at finally feeling able to trust myself more (I didn’t think I would ever get here). It shows up in big ways like knowing that I needed to make a deeper career change and doing that despite many a night of stomach pain when the stress gets too big, and in smaller ways, like buying clothing that is this turquoise color and not particularly caring anymore if it’s impractical, if it can’t “maximize my wardrobe.”

I guess that what I’m getting at is that I really have valued 2009, for the cocoon that it has been. I don’t have a bitter taste in my mouth about this past year. I have learned so much, and I am thankful for how life is blossoming.

Stacy’s COURAGE necklace (a limited-edition available here!)

For all of what I’ve spent the past few months fantasizing, dreaming, creating, building, working towards to only be a few days away is such a thrilling–absolutely thrilling feeling.

It also feels very different than I had thought it would feel–and that’s okay. Even on the days when I have been most afraid, I have had some larger sense that whatever was coming up next for me, I needed to make the shift. It feels good. What I think more than anything else is that I feel more alive than I had felt before, and the surprise has been that “alive” is not always euphoria. Sometimes “alive” is a thin razor’s edge away from the cold, bracing wind of fear (and believe me, I know what that kind of wind feels like, having spent a few winters in Chicago…so sorry to all of you dear souls who are getting blasted with nasty winter weather!).

So here’s the rundown of what’s coming:

First, the registration deadline for The Courageous Year is in three days (1/1/10)! The course will officially start on January 17th, but I’ll need time to set up your member login and things of that nature, which is why I’m cutting the deadline a bit earlier. To register, visit the registration page for the e-course.

Second, the Courageous Living retreat to be held in April in San Francisco still has some spots open. I am so incredibly excited about this retreat. I am absolutely creating it as the kind of weekend that I would want to attend as a participant (complete with our own private house, catered meals made by this chef I know who makes–seriously–the most amazing food, and such a lovely beach view…click here to see a video of the grounds!). Participants will come away rested, connected, and inspired after a weekend of both sharing their truth, as well as taking a step back from the everyday grind and getting an opportunity to dream even bigger. There is currently a $200 discount for the retreat, bringing the total cost to $400–if you sign up by January 1st. Visit the registration page for the Courageous Living retreat to get started.

Third, also starting on January 1st is a series I’m starting called the “Stop the Job Suckage Challenge!” I believe that even the most difficult work environment can be improved so that it doesn’t feel quite so hard to get up in the morning and face a job that you are not passionate about and that you may wish you could quit (like, five minutes ago). Download a badge and post it on your Facebook page or Blog, and link to:

http://www.yourcourageouslife.com/learn-to-like-your-job.html

(right-click on the badge, followed by a Save-As)

Beyond anything else, I feel such an enormous outpouring of love and support for all of the people who have helped me in the past few months. I love all of you, near and far (some of you VERY far) who asked if they could pass out courageous cards in your area. I love all of you who Twittered or posted on Facebook about the e-course or the retreats. I love all of you who sent me emails of support, just telling me that you thought I was doing something worthy–absolute strangers did this! I love all of you who participated in giveaways and left fun comments. I have never felt so held, and all of this support only motivates me more to do my part to help YOU–to help you to live your courageous lives. That might not show up in the form of taking an e-course or a retreat, but I really do have this vision for collaboration with the world, for all of us sharing a vision of people living lives that they’re really passionate and excited about.

My heart is so, so full of gratitude–and quite frankly, I feel better about the world in general–just knowing that yes, yes, yes...there are others of you out there who want people to live BIG. Yes, yes, yes there are so many others of you who know that you weren’t meant to live halfway. Yes, yes, yes there are so many others who, like me, don’t have all of the steps and how-to’s mapped out, yet we’re still going to look around and try things out and see what happens and then try more and see what happens again.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Photo by Andy (that’s me down at the end, snapping away…)

I don’t know where I first heard about lomography. I can’t remember, which is odd for me because usually I can pinpoint a specific idea that started something off. What I do remember is that somehow I found out about Holga cameras and decided that I’d get one because they were so cheap (ha! Little did I know that it’s the film developing costs that will kill you with lomo) and because, from what I saw online, they produced really fun, interesting results because the cameras have “light leaks” that allow light in at odd places, and this has a natural effect on the film. I imagined roll after roll of fantastically interesting shots.

My first roll on the Holga was an absolute disaster. Such a light, small, plastic camera? I could not hold the thing still in my hands and almost every picture turned out blurry and completely un-usable. What made things worse was that I didn’t know where to get the film developed at the time, and the place where I took the film quoted me $16 to process it and then I was charged $24 (because processing and printing are different, and they did not explain that). So, it was some ridiculous price for one roll of black and white 120 film, and then $24 for printing blurry pictures–not the adventure I’d been hoping for. Now I have found SF Photo Works, which will develop 120 film for $5 and print for $5 more (you can mail it in!). Also, I’ve figured out that you can get 35mm backs for Holgas and other cameras that normally take 120, which is of course less expensive. Furthermore, I’ve figured out that if you just tape the back of your Holga and count 35 clicks when winding, you can use 35mm film with a Holga even without buying the special back for it (I figure I’ll pass along the trade secrets in the hopes that others of you won’t need to do as much trial and error as I’ve been doing).

Another thing you might not know about me is that I have a huge fascination with old, abandoned buildings. I do not often wish to have been born with a penis, but when I see old, abandoned buildings and want to go explore in them, I do wish I were a guy so that I could explore such structures with less of a chance of being victimized by any characters who might happen to be living in there. I once found a photography book where the photographer had gone in to old buildings and taken pictures of what he found there (have no idea if this was done with permission or not). He matched up his pictures with pictures of what the place had looked like at one time, and I was fascinated (and, unfortunately, still in my “cheap” phase…I passed on that book and have always regretted it, and the store that carried it closed down and I have no idea what the title/author was). I am obsessed with vintage photographs and have quite the collection (a smattering of my very favorites can be found in my vintage set on Flickr).

All of this leads up to the story of Christmas Day. Andy got me two books for Christmas–one on the Holga, one on Fisheye cameras, and I was so inspired that I said, “Let’s go out and shoot pictures!” We headed out first to see the side of this building, which I had spotted a few months ago and had been telling myself I wanted to come back and capture on film:

It was Andy who said, “What about getting shots of that train station?” There’s this abandoned train station here in the East Bay that I have always wanted to get shots of. This is all part of my obsession with abandoned structures–the tracks of the station, including the elevated tracks–are still standing. There is a high chain-link fence around the entire thing, but in my secret fantasies, I would actually be brave enough to wiggle through the bent places in the chain link and take pictures. In my biggest fantasies, maybe there would be an open door somewhere, and I’d be able to just go inside and actually get photographs from the inside–beams of sunlight coming through cracked windows, dust particles caught in the light.

We drove over to the train station. No one was around, since it was still before noon on Christmas Day and no one was working at the nearby industrial complexes. I saw many places where I could have wiggled through the bent chain-link, but all of those places were so exposed, and I was too afraid. Then–who knows why–there was a place where a gate door was open to allow cars access. We parked the car across the street from this area, and after a moment’s hesitation, I said these words to Andy:

“Look, I have no priors. Let’s just do it.”

If I were to get arrested for trespassing on private property on Christmas Day so that I could take pictures, would that really be the worst thing in the world? I was willing to find out.

To my utter shock and amazement…from this completely open gate we were able to walk all the way along a set of train tracks to the abandoned station. Andy took pictures with his iPhone camera and I was snapping away with both my Holga and my Blackbird, Fly camera. (P.S. This 35mm camera is cheaply made and more fun to carry around than necessarily producing brilliant pictures. But still–) There were signs everywhere warning of CCTV, but they were bluffing–there was no a camera in sight, and if there was, no one was watching them on Christmas Day. No cars were really driving past. Andy I were whispering the entire time, just in case. With it being Christmas Day, and morning, the entire world was already quiet. Here, it seemed even quieter.

I took a deep breath and mounted the staircase to the upper level.

Being on that top level was both incredibly anti-climactic as well as a total high. It was anti-climactic in the sense that I didn’t really see many beautiful shots–what was more interesting to me visually was the lower level–but it was a total high in the sense that I knew I was doing something completely illegal and that in addition to that, I was standing in a spot where thousands of people had walked before me, people from a totally different time and era. What were they like? What were their stories? Did they think, as I sometimes can slip into the habit of thinking, that the way the world was for them at that moment in time was the way it would always be? That women would always dress that way, that cars would always look that way? This station actually didn’t close until after the Loma Prieta earthquake in the late 80′s, but I was having such fun imagining what it would have been like after the turn of the century.

I found this Flickr set that contains copies of old archival photos of the station, as well as a lot of modern shots that are probably going to turn out to be remarkably similar to what I shot on Christmas Day.

Oddly enough, I felt–despite intellectually knowing otherwise–that I had a “right” to be there. There was something beautiful to capture here. It needed to be captured, and I had wanted to do this for so long. Given these tough economic times, I imagine that the city of Oakland could make quite a mint of money if it would allow artists access to some of these older buildings (and given that there is an entire Flickr group dedicated to capturing shots of this beautiful station, there’s a market for this). Sadly, what the city is going to do instead is “restore” the area by putting up a bunch of truly ugly looking condos (they’re already blossoming) and a “retail center.” I read that as meaning that this beautiful old station will someday be a new retail outlet for the likes of The Gap.

My only bummer about lomography is the obvious–there is no immediacy, and for now, the only photographs that I can share are ones from the iPhone because I need to send out my 120′s and 35mm’s for processing. I’m crossing my fingers that these rolls of film come back looking good, because I would be so horribly disappointed if it were roll after roll of blurry film.

Then again, regardless of whether or not the pictures will turn out as anything, there is also something to be said for the beauty of experiencing something right in that moment. When I alighted the last step and was standing on the top platform, Andy was downstairs and I was just standing there alone, looking around, looking at the pool of water that had collected on the tracks, looking at the highway in the distance, feeling totally present and totally alive and totally connected both to this moment as well as to all of the people who had walked those same steps. It was silent, and a little cool, and the sky was very blue, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

Then the  moment was gone, I lifted a camera to my eye, and began to shoot.

Alameda, CA

I have a bit of an obsession with Alameda. I’ve pretty much been ecstatic about living here since I moved into my first apartment, a terrifically big studio apartment with utilities included and the old-style radiator heat that got things all nice and steamy warm. Born and raised in the Midwest, there are certain things that this gal just never has gotten used to in the San Francisco Bay Area, and one of them is having trouble finding parking on a street where I live. Alameda is the only place I’ve ever lived where parking is free and abundant, even on street sweeping days. There’s really not any crime, yet it’s not suburban.

Ole’s Waffle Shop. (Andy is in the lower left corner, holding a latte).

It’s got this “little old town” feel to it, with a box mart shopping center conveniently tucked away on the edge of things for those times when there’s no getting around it–you need a Safeway, or a Kohl’s, or whatever. It only takes five minutes to get anywhere. Rents are lower than anywhere else in the Bay Area and it’s only 20 minutes to get into San Francisco (and there are multiple options–car, transbay bus, parking at BART and taking public transit in, or the ferry). I do my running along the beachfront, where, on a clear day, the Bay Bridge and the City of San Francisco unfold themselves from the midst, a faraway hustle and bustle.

Outside the Bonniere Bakery, Alameda, CA.

On Sunday mornings, things are so quiet that one can hear their own footsteps. It is my favorite time to talk a walk.

But beyond anything else, I love how friendly everyone is. I love how my Peeps at Peet’s (as I call them) know my name and drink. I love how there is a Starbucks across the street from Peet’s (gee, guess which one was there first, and which one moved in just to be a corporate a**hole?) and how, when patrons from either place are crossing the street and happening in the opposite direction of the other, we arch eyebrows at one another’s cups but still smile and keep moving along. On this little island it is not uncommon to run into friends, start talking, and then realize you’ve finished half of your latte. There are good restaurants, a promenade of Queen Anne victorians (head down Grand Street to see them, and make a right onto Clinton Ave to see more), and–dare I say it? dare I “throw down” in such an aggressive way?–the BEST freaking library, ever. (P.S. It warms my heart that there is always a crowd of people waiting for the library to open each morning. As long as there is a crowd of people waiting to get into the library–a whole big two-story pile of books–the world cannot be in too bad of shape).

View from my front porch

sneak peek of my office. pictures coming!

I noticed this thing that happened over the weekend, on Saturday. Basically, as Saturday afternoon wound into Saturday evening, I started to mentally run through what was coming up next. The thought process was something like, “Okay, so let’s see: today is Saturday, tomorrow’s Sunday. What’s going on tomorrow? Anything I need to get done before Monday?”

There was this immediate dip in my mood and then, following that, remembering that in fact I am not teaching this upcoming Monday, and this caused an immediate lift, a sense of palpable relief. My work for the past year has been to notice that dip as the weekend started to wind down, and to remind myself not to give it too much power.

It occurred to me that I’ve been doing that dance with the weekend for a loooong time–far longer than I’d like to admit to the blogosphere, in fact. Some weekends I was able to not give Monday too much power, and other weekends, I was far less successful. There are a lot of dimensions of this that I could write about and will go into some other time–for now, I want to write about how strange it feels to realize that there is nothing for me to “push against,” work-wise, any longer.

Does that make any sense?

There’s this “thing” about work–people like to complain about their jobs. In fact, it seems to me that jobs are an easy dumping ground for most of life’s problems. Jobs become the thing that constrain our time and “suck our souls.” As a coach, I’ve noticed that each of us–that includes me–have our defaults for where we’ll put our blame/drama, and work is often enough the place where we put that blame/drama because job titles don’t get hurt feelings when you call them names, the way our loved ones would if we were blaming them (though for all of us at times, that can be another source of blame).

This Monday is the first Monday of the rest of my life. I have an entirely different set of questions to confront about my working life, namely about what it means for me to be/feel productive.  There is no longer that thing to “push against,” in the work realm, so my work now becomes making sure that whatever tendencies I have to create drama or complain don’t get pushed into some other area just to fill the void.

I’m also sort of in awe of the spaciousness of that void–of how big it got. I don’t yet have words to explain what it is like to see what I’m passionate about move into center focus, instead of being something I work on on the sides. I’m already noticing that it feels really weird to manage my computer time–the computer is often enough a source of both work and entertainment. Where do the two overlap?

I’ve been thinking a lot about the steps it took for me to actually let go of my teaching job–because it was really, really hard–and realized that my coach and I approached it all in a very methodical way designed to be as in integrity as possible. I wrote down each piece and what I’m going to do is this–starting on January 1st, 2010, I’m going to post ten consecutive steps towards Stopping the Job Suckage.

For humor’s sake (when your job sucks, you need a little humor) we’re going to call it the Stopping the Job Suckage Challenge, and because I think it’s funny, I made badges:

Right-click and Save-As to download these images and then put them on your own blog or Facebook page. Link back to this so that people will know what in the world you’re talking about:
http://www.yourcourageouslife.com/blog/2009/12/20/a-case-of-the-mondays/

Over the course of  ten days, I’ll outline the ten steps that you can take to a.) help your job suck less right now (maybe even to the point where you’ll discover that you like it, after all), and b.) help you start moving towards what you really want to do if you find that that’s still where you’re at, and c.) help you to handle that process with as much personal integrity as possible.

I followed each of these steps and have felt incredibly grateful for it–my last night of teaching was a night where I found myself actually wanting to slow down and be totally present to the process. I have never before left a job with that feeling–in the past, I have been counting down the hours and minutes until I “could finally leave.”

What would it be like to actually look forward to going to work in the morning? It’s actually possible to take steps towards that. I have already heard from a lot of Courageous Year participants that starting a new line of work is something they’re wanting to do in this new year ( registration for The Courageous Year ends on January 1st!) and I’m excited about helping others find work that feeds their souls. I believe that if we were all approaching work differently and finding ways to help work feed us, the world would be a very different place.

By the way, part of Courageous Living is–absolutely–doing work that feeds your soul. There are ten days remaining to get a $200 discount on the April Courageous Living Retreat in San Francisco, CA (total cost: $400 if you register a deposit by January 1). In addition to beautiful sunsets, our own private house, catered meals by an amazing chef, walking to the beach, and all sorts of Courageous schwag, health counselor Valerie Tookes and photographer Vivienne McMaster will be participating in the retreat as well as offering free consults or a mini-photo session. Learn more on the retreats page.

Come Alive ~ Courageous Living Retreats from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

When Susannah was in San Francisco a short while ago, she had a meetup at the SFMOMA cafe, and I was heading into San Francisco that night to meet my students for our semesterly “Class night at the museum” at the SFMOMA, so I went in a bit early.

I had never given much thought to Polaroid photography. Actually, I confess I didn’t actually think it was an art form–I was under the mistaken impression that you can’t really control much with a Polaroid and that the good shots are simply a matter of luck. After looking at her gorgeous photographs and hearing her talk about manipulating Polaroid cameras, I had that feeling–that “I want to do that” feeling–and promptly began looking into getting a camera off of eBay. But before I did that, I put a notice out on Facebook that I was interested in finding a Polaroid in case anyone had one they were interested in just chucking, and within minutes Julia, writer extraordinaire and my new Patron Polaroid Saint, said I could come pick up her old 600 Land Camera, as it was collecting dust.

Cue the hunt for film, which I finally did find–at $25 a pack (and there are only ten shots in that pack…)!

And now I have taken my first shots and find that I really love the quiet grace of a Polaroid shot. There is something that I respond to when I hold a Polaroid in my hands. I don’t know how to explain it, except to say that there is something palpable about it. I keep looking at the photographs again and again, inspecting them, just enjoying the looking.

Now let me shift just a bit into what I’ve been thinking about, ever since taking on a type of photography that will cost $2.50 per photograph, with the fore-knowledge that much of what I do will be a flub, because the best advice I ever heard about becoming a good photographer is “Take lots of pictures.”

I am a photographer–I’ve been doing portrait sessions since 2006. I am the kind of photographer that a certain sect of photographers really hates–the self-taught photographer. Really, there is a certain sect of people in every art form that hates self-taught types. There are artists who disdain of any artist who didn’t go to art school. There are musicians who think any musician who didn’t start out with a solid foundation in classical training is a hack. There are writers who disdain of anyone who hasn’t studied under some established writer  (though oddly with writing, there is a lot of moaning and complaining about how all writing programs do is produce crappy writers and that “real” writers don’t need writing programs because “real” writers just write–with the help of a mentor, because to go it solely alone would hint at arrogance).

I began experimenting with photography before I ever knew what an F-stop was or what ISO meant. I did it quietly, without really sharing what I did because I didn’t think I was a “real” photographer. I bought a Canon Rebel that took 35mm film. An awful boyfriend had his brother sell the camera to me used for $250, claiming it was a deal, and I was such a naive thing that I took him at his word and then my mouth dropped open in shock when I saw the same camera at Target, brand-new, for the same price (sigh).

It was when I graduated to the Canon Digital Rebel XTi that I actually began to learn a thing or two about photography. The digital age has allowed me to teach myself a lot that I wasn’t able to teach myself when time delays made it necessary to wait to see what certain camera settings would produce. With a digital, I could set the camera to a certain setting, take pictures, see how that turned out, tweak it, take more, notice what made a difference–all without spending a ton of money.

More than anything, being able to play with a digital camera taught me a lot because I was able to make mistakes. Unlike when I was a kid and had a little Vivitar 110 camera and had to save up my allowance to buy or develop the film, using the digital has given me the freedom to play and experiment to my heart’s content.

The Polaroid, by contrast, is such an expensive camera to operate that my first time out with it I noticed that I was reigning myself in–hesitating to take pictures for fear that they would turn out badly and I’d waste $2.50 on a bad shot.

And then I thought, “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

I’ve been reading a lot more about the left and right brain lately–inspired by Daniel Pink’s “A Whole New Mind,” which I taught to one of my English classes this past semester. I’ve been thinking about how hitting the continuous shutter button on my Digital Rebel is so about going with a moment, not thinking, just diving right in and seeing what comes up–a much more right-brained experience. Using my 35mm Blackbird Fly or the Holga or even my Dad’s old Voigtlander Vitoret, and now the Polaroid, I take much more care in sizing up a shot. Especially with the Polaroid–who wants to spend $2.50 for a shot and get a blurry mess? I mean, that’s my latte budget we’re cutting into.

But from the perspective of craft, I can see how having some arenas where some outside influence causes me to go into a different mode than the one that I usually exist in, one that reigns in my excesses and gets me to carefully consider a move, can be a good one. When practicing the piano, one always starts slowly and then works their way up. You start slowly because otherwise you will practice mistakes in, which is to mean: your muscle memory will retain certain patterns that are incorrect, and you want to slowly train your muscle memory to reach for the right notes, and then build speed from there. Maybe there is some similar element for photography (one that I don’t know about since I didn’t go to school for photography). Maybe there is something about how I size up shots or evaluate lighting that I’ll notice and then integrate into what I do when I go back into the free form of continuous shutter on the digital.

I would really like to hunt down the Polaroid SX-70 land camera. If you have one floating around your attic or basement and don’t want it, please do contact me. Even if it’s broken, I’ll give it a try and see what happens.

And if you’re interested, I’m watching The Impossible Project closely, and recently got a tip about Rollip.com from O Magazine.

**On a slower internet connection, press “Play,” then “Pause,” watch the status bar to see when the video has fully downloaded, and then press “Play” again.

I’ve had a conference call with my two dear soul sisters, Vivienne McMaster and Valerie Tookes, and I am so excited–they are very generously acting as my assistants for the upcoming Courageous Living Retreat in April.

In addition to assisting and participating in the retreat, Valerie and Vivienne are donating their skills to help make it an even more amazing experience for YOU–Valerie is offering consults on dietary needs (not the kind that should you or shame you–the kind that offer the relief of not sorting through the diet madness perpetuated by the media!) and Vivienne is offering mini-portrait sessions (I’ve worked with her before, and this is my one of my favorite shots that she has taken)!

The cost of the retreat is only $400 if you register your deposit by the January 1st deadline (therafter, the total cost is $600). The retreat includes lodging (in our own house) and all but one meal, transport to and from the city, and, of course–flowers to wear in your hair, if you’re so inclined (I mean, if you’re going to San Francisco…).

To get more information, check out the Retreats page–and watch the video above. In it, I’ve included shots of the house and the grounds, as well as the beautiful ocean view. I can almost smell the ocean air!

Let’s Just Be Real ~ Dec 15, 2009 from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

I wanted to make another video, but have had an idea for a different one floating around in the noggin for awhile and it wasn’t this one–not this topic, not this informal. So I thought I’d just “riff” a bit about what’s been up lately, and then somehow that turned into me talking about my dislike of the word “blog” and then when I started getting honest about a really shit day I’d had lately, I related a little vignette about the intersection of life coaching and four-letter words.

And that will have me writing something at some point about how much I also dislike the term life coaching, but how I stick with it because it’s the easiest thing to explain to someone. But that? That is for another day.

For now, enjoy. It’s ten minutes, but I think I chose some pretty appropriate background music!

Katrin, you were the winner of the most recent Keri Smith giveaway. Please contact me by Wednesday–I want to get things out to you before Christmas. If I haven’t heard by Wednesday evening, I’ll head to the random number generator and give it another go (kindly!).

Okay, funny title, right? But here’s what I mean–self-care is not a to-do list of stuff, achieved or looked at in a factory assembly line fashion (i.e., bun, condiments, burger, lettuce, tomato, onion, bun, voila! self-care has been achieved!).

The Courageous Year is going to start, first and foremost, with addressing self-care. Some people might look at that and go, “Well, that’s great, but I’m not really experiencing issues with self-care. I get plenty of sleep, exercise, I get time to myself, so if this course is working on self-care, I don’t really need anything in that department.” Others may think, “I’ve tried those ‘self-care plans’ before. I’ve read those books. I know, I know, I just need to be accountable. I just need to get off my duff and do it. Nothing new, here.”

So let me just assure you that as I’m crafting the material for The Courageous Year, and as I work with coaching clients, I am not crafting it like a hamburger. Checklists that maintain accountability are a piece of the process, but they’re only secondary. I’m starting with the type of self-care that is about things like knowing that your life is fully in integrity.

Think of a time when you’ve encountered a difficult situation–perhaps, for instance, a time when you had conflict with a friend but no one was talking about it. Perhaps you felt icky and out of integrity because you knew you wanted to say something, but you were still working up the courage. Think of how much energy that ick feeling took–and think of how great it felt, how much lighter it was, when you finally did clean things up with that person.

In my coaching practice, looking at personal integrity and how to clean up situations where you don’t feel in integrity with others (because of withholds) or with yourself (because you know you have big dreams that you’ve been putting off) is part of self-care.

I remember how it felt before I found my life’s work–my attempts at self-care were that I’d decide that I was going to do yoga every day, or perhaps meditate, or whatever happened to inspire me in that moment, convincing me that I’d be “better if…”. It was great to take on that practice in that moment…but then it wouldn’t last. Why? Or sometimes I’d be really great at my to-do list, and yet I’d still feel empty and unfulfilled. Why?

From my perspective, I had that experience because there are other parts of self-care that were neglected. Self-care is so much more than eating our vegetables. It’s about integrity, personal choice, noticing, acknowledging, making conscious decisions.

That’s where the e-course is coming from. My work is about creating real, lasting change that is about a journey, not a to-do list of items to tick off.

I’m also really excited to announce that I have a few confirmed interviews:

Matthew and Terces Engelhart are co-founders of Cafe Gratitude in San Francisco and authors of Sacred Commerce, The Abounding River Personal Logbook, and Plenty of Time: A 366 Day Creative Planner. These two souls are committed to abundance and gratitude and all that it can bring into your life, and I’m really excited to see what they share.

Yvonne & Rich Dutra St.John, co-founders of Challenge Day and authors of Be the Hero. Challenge Day has been featured several times on the Oprah Winfrey Show and a new reality tv show on their work will be produced by MTV in the coming months.

Christine Mason Miller: Artist, Writer, Philosopher. She’s the shining creative writer behind the book Ordinary Sparkling Moments and her work has been picked up and distributed throughout many galleries and stores. She is an artist who has truly shown that through dedication and hard work, artists do not need to “starve.”

And if you’ve ever completed a really big goal, you already know that they aren’t completed in a vaccuum, they’re completed with support–both support that helps you to be accountable as well as to hang in there when times are tough. To that end, I offer Courageous Badges that you can use on your website, blog, Facebook or MySpace page. Let people know that you are making big shifts in your life. Say it loud and proud. Watch how things blossom.

You’re the winner of the 2nd Keri Smith giveaway.

Contact me via email to go from here.

To everyone else…what is new? What inspires you? What’s your favorite website these days? What books are you reading? I’m on the hunt for new bits of inspiration.

From inside of Pizzeria di Michele in Naples, Italy.

I have been on a journey with loving and fully accepting my body. I think that most women are, or have been. The journey has been such a complicated and layered place–full of thinking I was “over it,” beating myself up for not being “over it,” eating disorders in high school, extreme exercising, extreme dieting, not being able to exercise due to injury and watching in frustration how my body changed, noticing the women who judged me for judging my body, wishing my body would be anything else but what it was.

Looking back with the benefits of hindsight, I realize how much I have wanted some kind of “holy grail” of body image therapy–like there would be this one day when I was just done judging my body, if I followed XYZ steps. Instead, each piece has been a piece.

The woman who once told me disgustedly that she didn’t respect any women who were “insecure much past high school”? I get to heal that piece–the piece of me that, in the moment I heard that, accepted the full weight of that shame and wanted to deny that I ever had any issues with my body at all. The piece of me that didn’t want to own that loving my body has been a challenge, a struggle. I get to fully own the fact that I have been, sometimes still am, and probably will again feel insecurities about my body. And I feel powerful in that. I am embracing those insecure feelings as if they are poor, abandoned children that no one wants, and it’s my job to speak kindly to them and let them heal at their own pace, not because someone else is being cruel.

It’s a journey, not a one-stop-shop.

The night I did that naked workshop on body image, and huddled up on the floor because I didn’t want anyone to see me? I got to heal that. I got to come back and re-do that workshop a year later, and this time I did a full on sass and a half naked turn in a room full of other naked people, and it rocked the casbah and I was so proud of that. That night, the re-do night, I owned every piece of myself.

It’s a journey, not a one-stop-shop.

That workshop was also one in which I got really, really clear on how women are oppressed through the media as well as how we as women–even when we “know better”–participate in that oppression. At the end of the day, there are all of these ads thrown at us to convince us of one thing–that something is wrong with us and our bodies, and that we need to buy something to make it all better. We buy it hook line and sinker, despite all of the research on how the media influences how we feel about our bodies. I stopped buying women’s magazines that had anything to do with supposed “fitness” or “health,” as well as the celebrity gossip rags that do things like rate what women are wearing. I stopped watching television shows that feature only stereotypically beautiful, thin women that I am asked to emulate, and I also got in touch with the judgements that I carried about beautiful women. What good does it do me to hate them? What good does it do any of us to hope that they may be beautiful, but that they lead unhappy lives? How have I been trained to think that someone who is beautiful on the outside has it all “together” on the inside, and how does that belief system contribute to separation in the world?

This was all more journey.

Going to Italy in 2008? I got to heal the part of me that was terrified of what might happen to my body if I stopped dieting. (Actually, first I got to get in touch with the fact that I was terrified of no longer dieting–I hadn’t even been aware of how afraid of that I was!). In Italy, I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. When I went to Pizzeria di Michele, I ate an entire pizza myself. And at the end of the day, when I got back to the United States after spending a month in Italy eating, happy as a clam? I weighed myself and had lost five pounds. That’s when I “got it” that the diets don’t matter so much as loving myself and focusing on completely being happy. I can hear the cynics saying that I must have lost weight because I was walking so much in Italy. I doubt that that was it. I had pastries for breakfast, pastas and breads and pizzas–regular meals–at mealtimes, and stopped for gelato twice, sometimes three times a day. One would need to do a lot more walking than I did to make up for all of that!

And still, it’s a journey–not a one-stop-shop.

I decided last year that I wanted to lose 20 pounds–to get myself back to the weight I was at before I had a foot injury that kept me from exercising for nearly two years–and also that I wanted to run Bay to Breakers. I began training in January of this past year. I worked out five days a week many weeks. I lost thirteen pounds. My body started to look like an athlete’s body. I felt really excited that I had figured out what really works when it comes to weight loss–weight lifting and resistance machines all the way, baby–and at the same time that I was getting really ripped, something was not clicking for me and my body would shut down if I tried to run more than four miles. I had to cancel on Bay to Breakers. I also got to do work on the parts of me that were afraid of the judgements of others for making a choice to work out. I learned a critical piece about how the important thing is consciousness and ownership of my decisions. If I decide to lose weight, I make that decision because it’s what I want for myself, for reasons that support myself and my vision for my life…not because some magazine shames me into it.

Journey, journey, journey.

Fast forward to this past summer, when I went back to Italy and again resumed the “I’ll eat whatever I want” diet. I was unable to work out there, even though I tried–the humidity just wasted me–and once again, returned home another five pounds thinner. Then I decided to let go of teaching and as I put more time and effort into coaching and getting things set up for this transition, the workout schedule that I’d maintained so well fell by the wayside. This was a conscious choice. I noticed that I had an inner little girl who was working so hard at two jobs plus moving and every time I thought of going to the gym, she threw a fit. How could I make her go to the gym and workout, on top of everything else? The resistance was so, so strong. So I did something that I had never been willing to do before–I both continued my policy of “not dieting” as well as embraced my inner little kid’s resistance. She didn’t want to go to the gym? We didn’t have to. I had lost 13 pounds since deciding to lose 20 this year, and 3 crept back but the rest were seemingly held at bay.

I decided to see where that would lead. Journey, journey, journey.

My coach, Matthew, has had me doing mirror work for the past two years. It’s only been in the past few months that I have been super consistent about it. I’m grateful. I am a curvy girl. I have hips and breasts. When I first began doing mirror work–standing in front of a mirror and looking myself in the eye, while naked, and then looking at my body, while naked–I couldn’t handle it. There was a touch of the perverse in there–like, was I somehow perverted or wrong for looking at my own body? Was that narcissistic? Crazy?

In addition, I would do this work and all I could see were my flaws. It drove me crazy to spend time being with them. And then, over time, something lifted and I came to understand that none of it was a flaw. It started to seem as ridiculous to think of looking at my thighs and thinking they were wrong as it would to look at my elbow and think it was wrong. There came another part of the journey–how had I been trained to look at certain parts of my body and believe that something was wrong with them? And who chose that belief? And who could choose to opt-out?

Something shifted in these past few months–some combination of seeing that I could release the “diet and exercise grip” without gaining a lot of weight, plus the mirror work. The fear lessened, and I began looking at my body in the mirror with something akin to kindness. I began feeling true gratitude for it, every single day. What a wonderful machine it is! It keeps me upright and has me moving around and twisting and using all kinds of muscles that I never think twice about using. It’s got me typing at some ridiculously fast typing speed right now–all of that processing, that ability to pair muscle movement with thought! And its ability to heal–to get sick and then fight back, to bruise and then send healing cells to that area, to be sore and then repair the muscles. How can we all spend so much time hating something that does such beautiful work for us?

When I really started to think about these things, I was in awe of my body, of the cells that make it up and have so beautifully do their job every single day, despite my history of ABUSE, my HATRED, my DISGUST, my CRITICISMS.

What a wonderful body I have! What wonderful bodies we all have, working for us in the ways they work for us and not working for us in other ways so that we have the gift of learning something from that.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that my inner little kid was starting to come out of resistance with the gym. She wanted to exercise again. She likes all of the energy it gives her. She likes how it reduces stress. She likes being strong. She likes running and being out in nature. She likes how it keeps her from feeling cooped up in the house. So I asked her, “Are you ready?” She said, “Yes.”

My first day back at the gym was Tuesday, and what a fitting experience to have on a first day–two women were working out with a guy friend of theirs who was helping them learn the equipment. The two women were overweight. They were being really great about letting me and others get sets in as they rotated through the equipment (some people are not so respectful…sigh…). One of the women was resting in between sets and she looked me up and down and said, “How often do you work out?”

“Well,” I said, “I used to work out four or five days a week, but then I stopped for a long time. Now I’m getting back into it.”

“But what’s the point?” she said, and she was not saying it unkindly. “I mean, you’re thin. What’s the point?”

All of these words rushed to my lips and were about to spill over, words like–Thin? ME? No. I’m not thin. I’m a size X and I weigh Y, and if I weren’t wearing these sassy gym pants you’d see that, and I wish I could lose blah blah blah–and then I stopped myself. I smiled.

“Well, to have energy–when I work out regularly, if I have a bad night’s sleep I don’t feel tired at all. And to have a healthy baby someday, and to live a longer life,” I said.

Then she said, “Yeah. Yeah, I notice the energy thing, too. When I work out, I have a lot of energy.” Then she ducked her head and laughed. “I also notice that when I’m exercising, I’m really regular.”

Well, okay then–that was another benefit I hadn’t thought of…

Here’s where I’m at on the journey, today. First of all, sometimes I still “feel fat” or fall into criticisms of my body. I embrace that as okay. The sooner I shine light on that and then look at why I’m suddenly feeling insecure and projecting that onto my body, the sooner I feel better and get into a good place again. I no longer take feelings of ick around my body as truth. It’s never my body–the feelings come from something deeper.

Second, I am easing back into working out again–not because I want to be really skinny. The mirror work has done a lot to take that desire off the table. I’m full-on in love with my fantastic body. I’m exercising to keep it strong, to keep myself energized, and because my inner little kid got that time that she apparently needed to just have the Resistance. I’m lifting weights and this feels good–I feel strong.

Third, I use the question “What nourishes me?” to decide what to eat. I eat bread. I eat sweets. I eat gelato. However, I don’t eat anything without consciousness. I think about what I am eating and how I will feel afterwards. If the experience I want is to share a decadent dessert with my partner, I’ll do that. I’ve learned to recognize that no matter how good something tastes, I really really really hate that icky bloated feeling of eating too much, so I choose not to do that. I now believe I’m pretty good at being able to tell when my body wants vegetables or meat or a carbohydrate. It took time with that question about what nourishes me to get conscious about what my body was asking for, when.

All of this is a piece. If you find yourself hating your body right now, terrified of what might happen if you stopped dieting, frustrated by how you can love your body one moment and then hate it in another, start by considering just the question “What nourishes me?” combined with daily mirror work.

Body image is something that I work on with a lot of my clients–I’m really excited to be able to share with them what I’ve learned and guide them through this process. Body image is also something that will be addressed as part of the Courageous Year.

Loving yourself all the way, no matter what–that sounds pretty courageous to me. And don’t forget–apparently, another benefit of exercise is that you’ll get really regular.

Where are you at on your body journey?

Poppy, the cat that I house-sat for from July through October

I realized that I haven’t updated anyone on the cat situation, which is basically that there is no longer a cat situation.

We let go of Buddha.

Buddha was presenting so many behavioral challenges–challenges that kept mounting–that it was becoming more and more apparent that keeping him was just not an option. And then the kicker came…

He’d started peeing when he didn’t like something. He kept getting off of the lead and harness that I’d set up for him in the back yard (being deaf, I didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to run around the neighborhood freely; he wouldn’t be able to hear cars coming down the street–plus they told us at the shelter that since he was all white was at risk of skin cancer and really needed to be an indoor cat). He got off one night and came home with some really nasty juicy scratches all over his face. Sigh. We took him to the vet, and she gave him a clean bill of health. She said that his behavioral issues were just due to stress. But then he wanted to go outside, and if I didn’t let him? He’d pee on the floor.

So a few nights after this diagnosis, after going to the pet store and spending even more money trying to find a toy that would hopefully entertain him (he showed no interest in anything we brought home), plus this expensive pheromone spray thing that was supposed to calm him down and was recommended by the vet, I called Andy from school to say that I was on my way home. Andy reported that he was reading in bed and Buddha was laying in my spot. I asked Andy to move him so that he would have time to fall asleep again before I got home (and hopefully give us a normal night’s sleep). Also, since I have a mild allergy to cats, I didn’t want Buddha right near the head of the bed.

So, okay. Buddha was moved to the foot of the bed. Andy later reported to me that  Buddha gave a mild grunt of displeasure at being woken up and moved, but that after a few minutes of petting, he was purring as usual and settled right back down.

Andy nodded off.

And sometime after Andy nodded off, Buddha peed on the bed.

I can’t say that I would have accepted this well under any circumstances, but man–I definitely don’t accept it well when I come home at 11:30 at night when I’ve stayed late at work to grade papers (a task that is “not my favorite”) and then drove a half hour to get home, and then the quilt on the bed is brand-new as are the bedsheets and the pee is on my side of the bed and it has soaked through a quilt, a down comforter, all of the sheets, and into the pillow top of my mattress–my pillow top mattress that was a graduation gift to myself that I saved money for and scoured stores for a good price on and finally found on clearance…

He was a wonderful cat, and yet also an extremely, extremely high-maintenance cat. I feel I can say this with some authority, because we house-sat we sat for two different people who had two cats in the home, and neither house with two cats was nearly as much work as just this one cat. Granted, none of those cats were deaf, and who knows where Buddha came from before he came to us–who knows whether he was abused, or how he had been treated.

Nonetheless, it was just very apparent that he was not a fit for us. I felt so much fear of judgment around that and hesitated in telling people (wanting neither to hear people say what I “should have” done nor get read a riot act on responsible pet ownership). I cried as we walked away from the Alameda Animal Shelter, feeling so sad and missing him because really, when he was chill and just laid with you on the couch? He was a great cat.

While we were there, they suggested that perhaps we consider getting another cat. We declined.

But really, who am I kidding?

There is really only one cat that I want, and it’s the little bug that I still miss all of the time. I miss the way she would pace around the coffee table while scoping out the lap situation if I was on the couch. I miss how she would purr and her peculiar habits of always needing to knead something before settling down. I miss how silly she was, how she would look at me and then even be willing to step on my laptop to get onto my lap. I miss how she would give a little grunt of protest when I would pick her up or move her if she was sleeping. I miss how she only wanted to sleep on chairs where our things were–a coat, a canvas grocery bag. I miss how she followed me from room to room to see what I was up to, and settled herself into a corner. I miss all of it.

She’s my little bug, Poppy, and I miss her so much. Prior to meeting this cat, I never would have believed someone who told me that it was possible to get this attached to an animal. I am here to say that in fact, it is, and I feel hard, and now I find myself sifting through a lot of strange emotions as I continue with the process of letting go.

* * *

The Keri Smith giveaway continues (see the Dec 9th entry) until tonight at 10:00pm. Be sure to comment on *that* entry to enter the giveaway.

And on the Your Courageous Life facebook page, I’m encouraging you to reach out, connect, and create community. Check out the first topic posted on the Discussion Boards!

Awhile back when I began doing the planner giveaways in preparation for The Courageous Year e-course, I contacted Keri Smith to see if one of her wonderfully irreverent “non-planners” could be part of the giveaways. These guys are hard to find! She sent me two. The first was sent out, and the second is being made available as this week’s giveaway.

I really love Keri Smith’s approach, which I find to be very non-commercial, authentic, and fun. This type of datebook is great for people who avoid anything meticulously planned, as well as for those who are straight and narrow planners looking to ease up in the new year.

To enter this giveaway, comment on this post (and only this post) sharing whether you think your life could use a little more planning/organization lately, or perhaps a little less, and why. What would you like to balance out these days?

Comment by Wednesday at 10:00pm Pacific and please check back to http://www.yourcourageouslife.com/blog/ by Friday afternoon to see who one and, if you are the winner, to give me your contact information. In the event of  a no-show, a runner up will be drawn.

Andy had tapped his guy friends for hints about a place to take me for the weekend. Where to? They pointed him towards Pacific Grove, which is near Carmel and Monterey. We’d tried to take a trip to Carmel and Monterey last year, and it was not a disaster but it was less fun than expected, mostly because we’d thought Carmel would be this ultra-cute little beachy town, and instead we found it to be ultra-swank and exclusive, and that was a turn-off.

Pacific Grove was the quintessential ultra-cute little beachy town. We headed down on Friday afternoon and arrived at the place Andy had found for us to stay by that evening.

We checked into the Asilomar Conference Center, where things were pretty lively as they were hosting a math conference that weekend. There was lots of recessed lighting around the grounds and in the main house, there were hardwood floors and old chairs. It looked cozy and rustic and perfect. The smell of the trees and the roar of the ocean nearby complimented everything.

Then we got to our room.

Oh, dear.

The room looked like a hostel dormitory, right down to the stained carpets and five (count ‘em, five) basic mattresses thrown on a boxsprings with one thin pillow. The room was like a cave and no one had made any attempt at making the room aesthetically pleasing by hanging nice pictures, coordinating colors, etc. We both walked in and did that thing that two people do when they’re sort of waiting for the other person to say something, first. “Um…it’s…interesting…” I think one of us said. “Hmmmm,” said someone else. “Oh, a fireplace…” said Andy, and then upon examining the pile of newspaper and logs and soot trailing up the wall: “Hmmm. I thought it would be an electric fireplace. Hmmm.”

Meanwhile, of course in my head, I’m going, Ohshitohshitohshitohshit because this was exactly what I was afraid of–that he would plan this really, really great trip for us and that something would be amiss, and how would I say anything? 

I knew how much he was paying for this room, and it was not cheap. I draw the line at stained carpets. My man had gone all out for this weekend and all of the synapses that had been devoting energy into fretting about how much money he was spending on me suddenly got rerouted into being astonished that the place would charge that kind of rate for that kind of room.

I summoned up all of my courage, and just decided to lead off with admitting to him that I felt really craptastic about raising any kind of objection, and that I was so grateful for all that he’d planned and loved him so much…and that I was thinking that this room was not “our room” for this weekend. The whole drive down, we had both excitedly talked about how happy we’d be to sink into a room where we could lay around and read all day, if that’s what we wanted. Then we’d go see the beach. Or not. We wanted to just have no agenda, after a month of agendas and getting the house going and stuff to do. This was not a “no agenda” kind of room. 

“I think we should ask for another room, and if they don’t have another room, ask for our money back,” I said. “I mean, a Motel 6 is cleaner and nicer than this, and that’s far cheaper. What if we saved the money on the room and then we went out for more nice dinners, or used that money to do more stuff around the area, or just didn’t spend it at all?”

It was at that point, that Andy confessed that he was disappointed by the room, too–that this room looked absolutely nothing like the rooms on the website. (WHEW! I was able to breathe again at that point.) So we headed back to the front desk. It took some negotiating, but after looking at another nearly identical room and talking a bit with the manager–who was very polite–they were kind enough to allow us a full refund. They also let us know–and I think it’s fair of me to pass on–that they are planning major renovations, apparently after “getting money from the State.”  I don’t know that I feel fantastic about the idea of this place getting my tax dollars to upgrade their place, given that it’s a private institution, and since Andy and I later discovered that the rate they were charging him for a room was $40 higher per night than what they had printed as their 2009 nightly rate in a local “Guide to Pacific Grove.” 

Nonetheless, we drove just a wee bit down the street to the Rosedale Inn, where the manager had one room left (which was lucky since this massive math conference was going on) and it was $70 less per night, plus all that we’d hoped for–a pillowtop mattress that you could lay around on all day, a fireplace that starts with the flip of a switch, and (my personal favorite) clean carpets. The rooms you see in these pictures are in fact exactly what you get, and I give them two enthusiastic thumbs up if you wish to lay around and relax while on vacation (and if you like clean carpets).

And from there, we enjoyed hanging out in the general area, driving the short distance to Big Sur, taking pictures, stopping at roadside cafes, eating breakfast at Aliotti’s and getting a chance to practice speaking Italian. We also kept talking about what had happened with that room–I think we were both impressed with ourselves for speaking up, getting honest, and co-creating something different than the original plan. I think we were both thrilled with being able to just. let. go.

So basically, I just had a weekend where I feel like someone totally loved me up and if there were any words for adoring this man any more, I haven’t found them yet. Thank you, Lovey!

If you really knew me, you’d know that birthdays have historically been kind of sensitive for me. It’s my own fault in many ways–at this point in time, I don’t yet clearly see the way of “choosing out” of the belief system that they are a measuring stick of how much people love me. The measuring stick works like this: First of all, will the people I love remember? Second of all, will they come if I have a birthday get-together, or will something else be more important? And if something else is more important to them, what does that say about our relationship?

Awhile back, I had a few birthdays in a row where friends who had conflict with me used my birthday as a way to express that they were upset, in the form of not being available to get together. Years later and in hindsight, I recognize the dynamics that were at work and see how all parties played a part, and I accept responsibility for my part in creating and perpetuating conflict, and in not cleaning it up.

And, nonetheless, each year since that conflict happened, I notice that I feel a little sad about my birthday. I’ve done any amount of work with my coach around cleaning that up, letting go, etc., and yet it still lingers. So, okay, I’m going to give it more time, trusting that there’s still some gold in there (while simultaneously fully admitting the hurt feelings that can come up around that–it’s such a balance for me when I write here, conveying both how I am truly committed to a vision of owning my life fully and not being a victim, while also acknowledging the parts that are sticky, stuck, difficult or painful).

I do notice, however, that this year things are feeling just a bit different–and I owe that in large part to Andy, who has been World’s Sexiest Boyfriend this past week. It’s basically been “birthweek” around here, not “birthday.” The bed is made. The toilet paper rolls are replaced (and more toilet paper is purchased before I have a chance to put it on my to-do list). What would I like for dinner? Oh no, honey, I’ll load the dishes in the dishwasher. This morning he bought me my morning latte. This is all in addition to his usual, everyday availability for snuggling and random displays of affection (he’s really good at those).

Trust me, I’ve been having fun with this, appreciating it, acknowledging him for it and being full o’ gratitude.

But the thing that takes the cake is this–he planned a special weekend getaway for us. And I have no idea where it is or what we’re doing. All I know is that I’m supposed to pack a bag. And I think I’ve sneakily managed to get him to admit that it does not involve planes, but is a short car ride away. But I’m not sure. 

I’m totally thrilled on one hand, and on the other, I can’t help but have this little niggling worry: Uh, wait. What if I don’t like it? Like what if he’s planning to take us to a romantic…couples workshop? Which I would totally be up for, just not on my birthday, you know? The only clue he’s given me is that it’s warm (that’s a good thing). And I’ve made him promise and swear that it’s not expensive.

See, this is where I expose myself fully–the CONTROL synapses are going, “Danger! Danger Will Robinson!” 

You are officially witnessing this life coach’s “edge” with the comfort zone.

If it’s something I wouldn’t be into, how will I control my face from twitching and revealing that after his hard work and planning and the sweetness of the surprise, it’s not something I’m into? How to avoid NOT feeling like “the selfish a-hole” because what I “Should” be caring about is the thought, more than anything else.

CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL, DANGER, WILL ROBINSON–the control freak synapses don’t want me to focus on the gratitude. They want to know what’s going to happen next, at all times. They want to be on the lookout on my birthday to forestall any possibility of a disappointment, so that they can CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL a resurgence or retriggering of the pain of past birthdays. 

Isn’t it amazing what we humans will resort to, to avoid pain? 

He has almost given in to my pestering several times to tell him what he’s up to. And at the end of it all, he pulls back and doesn’t tell. It’s better that way; I know this deep down.

So by the time this entry posts, I’ll be who knows where, and triggered by who knows what (if anything, at all).

AND I’ll also be with my best friend, the person I adore the most, who makes me laugh on a daily basis, who triggers the crap out of me (and I return the favor), who doesn’t give up on me (and I return that favor, too).

He’s the guy who both replaces the toilet paper roll and takes me out for a surprise birthday weekend. When I am able to push aside the CONTROL switch, I could cry with the awareness that I would not want anything more.

Popping in for a quick update to let you know that the COURAGE necklace that Stacy and I were collaborating on was chosen as an Etsy morning pick! What an honor to Stacy!

Here’s the link again: http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=35570614

It has subsequently listed as “sold out,” but if you contact her I believe [[ crosses fingers ]] more will be available.

Oh, and P.S. I listed my “Your Courageous Life” facebook link on the last entry. A few people searched for my personal profile based on that (I think). I’m happy to friend you via my personal profile (please add a personal message so that I’ll know that it’s not one of those virus friend requests), but if you’re adding in order to get first dibs on giveaways or any of the other things that I mentioned in my last entry, you’ll need to add yourself as a “Fan” of the Your Courageous Life page. My personal page is moreso random bits; the Your Courageous life page is focused on giveaways, bits of inspiration, links I love, quotes that move me, first chance at discounts, book recommendations, etc.

In September, the very day that I decided that I would let go of teaching, the first symptoms hit of what I would now tentatively diagnose as an ulcer. In all of the blog reading I’ve done about people who have left jobs with some kind of security in favor of a path that offered no official “security” but a sense of fulfillment, I only recall people talking about whimsical journeys. Cue the fairy dust! I don’t recall anyone talking about feeling as if they were getting an ulcer. 

So let me be the first (if I am), to report: Quitting your job and starting a new career path can cause something that feels suspiciously like an ulcer.

But truly, it’s hilarious. Hilarious! The hilarious thing is that I was sitting on the couch today, doing deep breathing, and I was completely okay with all of it, not in the sense that I was giving up and not caring but in the sense that I was simply taking it in stride, surrendering to it, accepting that this was part of the package that I chose, that this is how my body is choosing to express some of the fear that is coming up–the tummy is sore.

Perhaps the stomach upset doesn’t bother me so much for other reasons–reasons like the e-course filling, or feeling inspired around new ideas for the April retreat, or seeing my available session times for January filling more than a month in advance (there are four remaining, so contact me ASAP if you want to set up a coaching session).

I am so very grateful. I am walking into our new house with gratitude, into my yellow studio with gratitude, into every single morning with gratitude. When the fear does come up, it is less and less about “If I do this, will anyone even care?” and more and more, “Wow, I’m doing this–what if I screw it up?”

And that, too–riding that fear–is also part of the journey.

I mean, that’s just it–it. I am completely and totally and utterly thrilled, and so thankful, and so excited, at the same time that my stomach can be in pain to varying degrees or I feel fear and worry about being a screwup.

That’s it.

That’s all.

“That’s all” is a nice place to be.

* * *

Here’s a re-post of the link to Stacy’s beautiful courage necklaces.

And–those of you who signed up for the Courageous Year–in your digital Welcome Packet there is information about adding yourself to the mailing list that will be private for your group. I’m going to start sending announcements to that list in the coming weeks, so please add yourself as soon as you can.

Oh yes, and–I give advance notice about giveaways, retreat discounts, etc. via Twitter and Facebook. I also pass along any beautiful links, book recommendations, or inspiring quotations that come my way. If you’re not already getting the official announcements, get added!

So maybe you’re thinking that Christmas is a Life Coach’s favorite season, like we and others of the positive-thinking ilk are just clip-clapping our hands with excitement come the Friday after Thanksgiving so that the holiday decorations can go up–maybe you even think it’s people like us who are responsible for decorations going up earlier and earlier each year. Maybe you just generally want to vomit at the thought of people doing things like affirming their worth or embracing themselves as powerful, and when you combine that with lots of talk of “Tis the Season” and holiday specials where people brave ice and snow to be together on Christmas and share lots of nice thoughts while sipping eggnog around the fire, it gets on overload. Maybe that’s the point where you purposefully bring Chinese food to the Christmas potluck where the hostess wanted everyone to bring “something they made themselves”–that is, if you don’t decline the invitation altogether.

Maybe that’s you.

It would definitely, absolutely, totally be me–if I weren’t invested in playing a different kind of game.

So I’ll start this the way we’d start a share at a recovery meeting: “Hi. My name is Kate. I am Holiday Aversive.”

“Hi, Kate.”

The holiday season is not my favorite time. I have what I believe are legitimate reasons for this, and to describe them, I’m going to speak from the place I was at, the place I can go to if I get a wee bit on the negative side of things–my inner snarck. So here goes.

One: it was a time when, during my childhood, my parents struggled the most around money. Two: A number of divorce/custody fights were centered around the holidays. Three: I hated visiting relatives who didn’t know anything about me, save what they learned on the holidays. I carried a lot of resentment that from my point of view, my family was totally drowning in anger and debt and unhappy muck, and despite all of the truckloads of tripe about “togetherness” and “family,” none of them had any clue what was going on. “Why pretend?” I remember arguing when I didn’t want to go. Four: Working in retail over the holidays and having people who theoretically wanted to give gifts in order to make other people happy turn around and make my life miserable when we were out of a size or they couldn’t find what they wanted. Five: Hearing that Same. Damn. Christmas. Tape. On. The. Gap. Sound. System. Every. Four. Hours. Six: Long lines, screaming children. Seven: Airports. Eight: Expensive flights. Nine: Ice-storms and canceled flights. 

And oh gee golly gosh huh-huh, my favorite! Number Ten! TEN: BEING TRIGGERED AROUND MONEY AND SPENDING TIME IN LONG LINES WHILE CHILDREN SCREAM TO SHOP FOR THINGS THAT PEOPLE DON’T REALLY NEED AND LISTENING TO THE REPETITIVE CHRISTMAS MUSIC IN THE STORES AND THEN SPENDING THE MONEY ON THE EXPENSIVE FLIGHT AND SITTING IN THE AIRPORT AND WAITING FOR THE PLANE TO TAKE OFF ALREADY…SO THAT I CAN FIGHT WITH MY FAMILY!

Ding ding ding ding! 

So, um, yeah. The holidays? They are not my favorite. If they are not your favorite, too, then let me tell you I can relate. Big time. Let’s just say I am still on my journey with the holidays, and part of my coping mechanism does in fact still involve buying enough toothpaste, deoderant, toilet paper and soap so that I don’t have to enter a Target from November 20th through January 3rd.

But okay–the whole point of doing the work that I do, aside from transforming myself from angry/bitter/grinchy because it’s a better thing for myself is to do it for the betterment of the world. Recently I was reading a book, Sacred Commerce, which was written by the founders of Cafe Gratitude. It’s about how to run a business in a way that is about meaning, but I think any tools there can also be applied to the larger “real world.” One that I particularly love was the tool of “making it a game.”

Something I’ve done these past few years because it gave me great joy was to make the holiday season an opportunity to love up every single cashier or helper person I run into. I remember what it was like to work at the Gap and have people treat me as…well, expendable. To be sniped at or have people act impatiently was really hard, as was just the general feeling of standing at a cash register for hours on end, listening to the Eurythmics version of Winter Wonderland (I believe that there’s only so many times one can hear that song on the sales floor before you are volunteering to please, please, please go down to the stockroom? To steam some button down shirts? Refold the denim by size and wash? Get down on the basement floor with a flashlight to scare away the cockroaches? Anything other than listen to that song one more time?).

But back to the point–I have made it my thing the past few years to try to avoid stores during the holidays, and if I do need to go to a store, to be really, really kind to the person who was helping me. To smile, to ask them in a really genuine way how their day was going, to do whatever I could to make a joke or lift their spirits. When I was on my feet for long shifts at The Gap, it was those people who were my lifeline, who reminded me that not everyone was going to yell at you if you could only find a pair of pants in a 12A, not a 12R.

This year, I’ve decided to “Make it a Game.” Make it a game to see just how much I can give kindness to the people I’m running across. This is something that I can do to divert my attention from that guy on the highway–you know, the one with the Christmas wreath in the back of his car and the bumper sticker asking what Jesus would do?–who just about ran me over and then laid on his horn and gave me the finger during the holiday season. 

Also, I’m Making it a Game to laugh at that sort of behavior, because it’s actually really, really funny if you think about it. One of these days I will mine the brain for tidbits about working at The Gap and write about it  (at least, I can’t remember signing an exclusivity clause…).

But just in case any of my fellow grinchies think I’ve gone off the deep end and am now “going over to the other side,” I’ll offer up that I don’t think I’ll ever truly be someone who’s into the Christmas spirit if this is my favorite Christmas tune of late (warning…crass content with that link).

So this goes out to my fellow people who are less than thrilled about the holidays. How do you cope? What do you do to make it a more powerful experience?