Your Courageous Life

So. There’s this thing that’s been brewing around in the back of my wee ole noggin.

The thing that has been brewing looks something like this: Last year, I started eating meat again. It was sort of an accident. Kind of. It was an accident that looked like Andy eating an In n’ Out Burger hamburger, and me having a bite, and that burger was, you know, SO GOOD, so I got a whole one. For the twenty-four hour period following eating that hamburger, I had so much energy. It was such a noticeable amount of energy that I went, “Hmmmm. Maybe I’m supposed to be a meat-eater.”

So I started eating meat again. I noticed that I had more energy. I had been a vegetarian for 14 years, and then switched to a raw foods diet, in the hopes of counteracting the near constant tiredness, headaches, and colds that I’d been getting. The raw foods diet certainly does work, in my opinion, but good heavens if I could keep that up. Especially come winter time–who wants to hunker down on a cold night with a…spinach salad?

I am a voracious reader and, in the past year and mostly thanks to instant downloads on Netflix, a voracious documentary watcher. I read and then saw the movie Fast Food Nation. I also watched Food, Inc. I’m almost finished with John Robbins’ Diet for a New America. I’m a total Michael Pollan fan. I’ve watched and/or read a whole host of other documentaries in the past year, and again and again I keep coming to a conclusion, one that has a core basis in my sense of personal integrity and what I am willing to participate in, that factory farming is just not at all good for the planet. Stemming from that I have been questioning eating meat, how I make purchasing decisions around food, and my overall environmental impact.

I have not done anything about what I’ve been questioning, for one simple reason: I have not been ready.

Now, I’m ready.

Over the past weekend, I watched the documentary No Impact Man. In essence, what I take away from the film are a few things. One, that I am educated about the issues and have been content to sit back and let my awareness of them be enough (sometimes, awareness is its own contribution; for my own personal sense of integrity on the issue of environmental impact, it does not feel like the case). Two, if a couple with a small child living in New York City in a tiny apartment can completely cut out their environmental impacts for a year and eat in season, then I, living in a house with no child to take care of, living in the state of California, mecca of the farmer’s market and the longest growing season in the country, can make some shifts myself.

Then the essential question becomes: What shifts to make? There are a few that I know I won’t be making. One is giving up my car. San Francisco is home of what I call “shitty and inconsistent public transportation charging an arm and a leg while trying to pretend it comes even remotely close to the subway systems of New York City, Chicago, London, etc.” There is totally a market here for a widespread and efficient public transit system–tons of people who would happily give up their cars–and yet there is not the willingness to build it or make it cost-effective. It is cheaper for me to drive my car over the Bay Bridge, even paying tolls and gas, than it is for me to take the BART train, and even if I were to take BART, I’d still have to drive my car to a station, anyway (where I’d then have to pay even more money to park in a station lot, or spend 15-30 minutes burning gas circling to find a parking spot in a residential neighborhood).

So, no giving up the car.

There are other things that I know people around here do, like not turn on the heat in the winter because it really doesn’t get all that cold. Hmmmm. Near the top of the list of things I dislike, being cold is one of them. So, the heat will stay. And for sure, I don’t see myself giving up toilet paper or electricity, like No Impact Man.

But I have always been moved by the saying that “No one can do everything, but everyone can do something.”

So I’m preparing to experiment with two things: moving back into vegetarianism and possibly even veganism, and eliminating all food packaging from my life.

I say “experiment” because I know that one of the quickest ways to kill enthusiasm for an idea is to make it something that I “have to” do. Additionally, while I have a theory that the reason I felt sick so often when I was a vegetarian has more to do with eating bowls of cereal and calling it a “vegetarian diet,” I’m also aware that I did feel an immediate and substantial benefit from eating meat, and that is not to be overlooked. One of the reasons I’m really impressed with John Robbins’ book is that he specifically states that a.) he does not believe that one should be judged for their food choices, and b.) that yes, there are some people for whom a vegetarian diet does not work. Earlier this year, I talked to some vegans about their choices and one vegan nutritionist even said that some people’s bodies don’t produce enough carnitine, though it’s unknown why, and that this can be supplemented. Ultimately, even continuing to eat meat won’t really be too much of a problem–I am lucky enough to live near a place that has a local butcher, and that butcher buys only from farms where animals are treated well, fed organic and no-hormone diets, etc. So if I don’t stick with being a vegan, it’s great to know that I have other options.

Shift two that I will be experimenting with is moving into eliminating all packaging from my food purchases. I’ll start with eliminating plastic (the worst thing to use for anything, because it takes the most chemicals to make and is hardest to recycle), and then move towards eliminating all packaging. Perhaps this shift is the one I’m most excited about, in part because most of the foods I eat (rice, quinoa, cereals, etc.) are things that I can easily find in bulk grain bins and it’s a shift that I can feel proud of while really only being of minor inconvenience. Currently, I buy cereal by the box; I can switch to getting it from a bulk bin. Currently, I buy rice by the bag; I can switch to getting it from a bulk bin. It’s a matter of convenience, and I have one set of plastic bags that I can use for transport between the store and my home, and simply re-use those bags each time that I go to the store. Also, I’ll just make it a point of going to any one of the gadzillion farmer’s markets around here and this will enable me to eat seasonally and support local farm producers, which I feel better about than supporting factory farming.

Another step? Spending this past Sunday in the back yard, planting a vegetable garden! I’m excited about this one in particular, though I’m holding a space of low expectations because who knows whether or not raccoons, birds, or bugs will get my first crop. I’m notorious for killing houseplants, so we’ll see how it goes with my little vegetable plot!

So–let’s say I’m not becoming a “no impact man” so much as I’m being a “less impact woman.” In measurable results, I can say that Andy and I currently produce one and a half trash cans full (13 gallon trash cans) per week of recyclable material. Andy’s along for the ride at the moment, so if we were to cut down our packaging use to zero, one could estimate that we’d save approximately 1,1014 gallons of recyclable material each year. Is it significant? Nah. But is it kind of cool? Absolutely!

The only part of this that I’m not looking forward to? Justifying decisions. Blech. The one thing I was happy to leave behind when I started eating meat again was dealing with people who assume that my food choices were an inherent judgement of their own, or the people who insisted that plant-based diets were dangerous, etc. At the end of the day, though, I know that I am “behind” my choices and so ultimately, it’s okay if others disagree. I’m committed to feeling good about my choices, not changing others’. I also like what Stacy writes about that, here.

I’m so curious to hear about other ways that you personally step into “no one can do everything, but everyone can do something.” And of all the things I’ve brainstormed for alternatives to packaging, I’ve found solutions so far for everything but two: chocolate and soymillk. Any idea where I can get my hands on chocolate that isn’t packaged? Any idea where I could do a bottle deposit system for soymilk? Hmmmm.

The first level of The Courageous Year ended on Friday, and today that first group is heading off to Level 2 and a new group of people are coming in at Level 1. With the first group I am witness to this sense of camaraderie, a shared experience together. And with this second group, I am reminding myself to sink back into beginner’s mind, to remember what it feels like to be starting something.

A few years ago, I studied Zen Buddhism. I see my transition/timeline into my current infatuation with all things new age and white light and positive thinking combined with a good dose of practicality to be something like this:

experimented with manifesting while using the book A Wish Can Change Your Life and received an apartment, job, and life partner (in that order) + stumbled upon Zen center while out for a random drive + fell in love with the stillness of a zendo + began meditating + got foot injury that defied logic + started looking into alternative healing + met my coach, Matthew + began working with Challenge Day + hung out with a spiritual group that had a rocking meditation practice + decided the group, while ultimately harmless, was probably a cult, and then pulled away but as they say in 12-step circles, “Take what you like, leave the rest,” and I did + went back to doing work with Challenge Day + went to live in Italy for the summer and in the semi-darkness of my room, spent 6 weeks birthing something that would take me from simply practicing what I’d been invited to practice in the pursuit of living my vision, to actually living my vision and really, really liking what I saw.

But back to Zen Buddhism. Beginner’s mind is something that is mentioned a lot in Zen, mostly because of Suzuki Roshi’s book, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind (I really like this talk, too). It’s about a quality of being open, of not coming into any new situation from a fixed point of saying, “This is the way this will be, because this is the way that other thing was.” It’s about not developing pre-conceived notions of anything. For instance, back when I was studying Zen seriously, if I mentioned to someone that I was undertaking that study, they sometimes assumed that this meant that I meditated every day, that I was full of compassion and non-judgement. (Confession: I’m certainly not complaining that these were the assumptions! I mean, an assumption that I’m really chill all of the time and nice? Sounds great to me!). Zen student equals “meditates daily and full of compassion” to some people. You can imagine the reactions if I dropped the F-bomb!

There are all sorts of places where “beginner’s mind” can come in handy. Today, I feel really present to having Beginner’s Mind as I greet the new participants with first lessons, remembering how scary or exciting it can feel to start a new undertaking–while also being careful not to make assumptions about what anyone is thinking or feeling, as I just sink into letting them BE their experience, to have it fully the way they want to have it.

But I’m also thinking a lot about having “beginner’s mind” in other areas of my life, like my relationships. This past Friday, Andy and I had made plans to have dinner with some friends. As I was out and about that day, I thought of this dinner with our friends, and I relaxed as I imagined the evening, and then that triggered something else–another Friday night dinner from long ago, 10 years ago. I’d been dating this guy who was (and I’m seriously stepping into compassion by putting it this way), “not a match for me.” We’d been having this wonky week and he’d promised that we would go out to dinner on Friday night. I was really looking forward to that dinner because the last time we’d gone to this particular restaurant, we’d had a good time and in my insecure, lack-of-self-esteem place, I was thinking that revisiting the restaurant would somehow solve relationship issues such as being cheated on and trying to force myself to believe his line that “Well, we weren’t really committed at the time.” (Apparently, I have a lot of faith in Pacific Rim to solve life’s problems).

We broke up that Friday afternoon, before we ever got to dinner, and I remember that while I was crying, for some reason my brain just held on to that: “But we said we were going to go out tonight!” A fresh wave of tears would come every time I thought of how we’d made those plans and I’d thought all week that my Friday night was going to be this certain way, and it hadn’t happened.

And here I am, ten years later, making Friday night plans when it dawns on me that in some small way, a teensy-weensy-itty-bitty-widdle part of me still has a liiiiiittttlllle piece held in reserve that doesn’t “count on” plans falling together. That moment when I relaxed as I envisioned a happy evening had triggered a memory of a time when counting on something had fallen through and hurt immensely.

I believe that it’s only through slowing down and being willing to enter into “beginner’s mind” that those moments come to us–those flashes of insight where, as silly as it sounds and impossible as it seems, I recognize some place where I’m holding onto an old way of being. Once I had recognized it, it was interesting to play with the idea, think about it for a moment, and then–like that!–drop it completely, be done with it, and move right along to letting myself indulge in how much I was looking forward to a fun evening with good friends, having dessert in the living room of our house that we love so much, the candles lit in the fireplace.

Now, even that–the assumption of fun–is technically not “beginner’s mind,” but in my current way of viewing the world, I believe that there’s something really powerful in putting my faith in goodness. I choose the thoughts that serve me best, from moment to moment to moment. With that trigger reaction inside, there was no real “choice” going on–I wasn’t even conscious of what I was doing. Having had a moment of waking up, it felt good to sink into believing in possibility.

And in the end–it was a really lovely time among friends.

Where in your life would you most like to apply a dose of “beginner’s mind,” not making assumptions about the way things are or will be?

All of My Days from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

You know that feeling you get, right after a really long, hard, cry–suddenly something in your body unlocks (for me it’s across my chest, my heart) and then shoulders drop and everything feels incredibly calm and clear?

I’ve spent the past few days just sitting with my sadness. Not busying myself with stuff, not running about, but just sitting with it. Camping out in front of the computer watching instant downloads on Netflix, reading books, taking naps, avoiding folding the laundry.

I believe that we need these places–these unproductive places, these places where seemingly nothing is happening. “But Kate,” someone might say, “If someone is severely depressed, and they start doing what you’ve just described, it will only get worse.”

Ah, but I think there is a difference between sitting with something, which is a highly active process despite its seeming lethargy, and being mired in a severe depression. In case you’re thinking next time a sad space comes you’d like to try out the “sitting with”, here’s a few key pieces:

Sitting with:

* Conscious of and willing to reach out for help at any time, and committed to doing so if the feelings get too overwhelming.

* Setting up ways to check-in with oneself (i.e., “I’m feeling sad/resistant/frustrated; I’ll check in again in one hour to see how I’m feeling and if I feel ready yet to do something that might lift me out of that.”)

* Openness to trying new things.

* Willingness to feel the feelings as they arise, without denying them or shaming oneself for them.

So while I’ve spent more time “watching television” (we actually don’t have a TV, Netflix on a laptop is about it) in the past week than I have since May of 2009, I’ve also been crying a lot, journaling, sitting quietly, focusing on using my tools, and–yesterday–trying new things. For me, that was painting.

I have not sat down for a “real” painting session since at least February of 2009. In February of 2009, we packed up our things into a storage locker and began a short-lived career as house-sitters. Then I went to Italy for the summer and told myself that I’d spend time painting there, even if I had to re-buy supplies at EU prices. Nope, didn’t happen. Even after getting my office completely arranged and making room for creativity here in November, I didn’t really get out my supplies. When I started the Across Mediums e-course, I loved that it gave me a real reason to pull things out. Yet even this was not a “real” painting session to me, because I knew that I did need to document what I was doing so as to have pictures to go with the course. I didn’t totally feel like I was working just for myself, without any goal of showing it to anyone, and I didn’t really have the indulgence of pulling out all of my supplies. Additionally, one of the points of the AM course is that one needn’t–shouldn’t–spend a lot of time trying to work on a project or final project. The point is to spend 20 minutes a day on something, do what one can, and let go after that.

So yesterday, I pulled out all of my supplies. (My office right now is a blooming mess.) And I couldn’t find the plastic plate that I use as an easel. Whine, whine whine–pull out tinfoil and cover a regular plate already, Swoboda. And all of my paintbrushes had these odd little things on them about the size of pieces of sand, which I take to mean that spiders or some other bug laid eggs in the bristles while they were in storage. Ew. And–okay. Put some dirt on it, Swoboda.

I painted for hours. I listened to Krishna Das and the soundtrack to Vicky Christina Barcelona. I painted past and through lunch. I literally forgot to eat. Then I finally did eat and there was a letter in the mail that opened my heart and as I read it, I cried big, hard, long tears while holding it and sitting on the couch.

When I was finished crying, something in me was unlocked, and the first thing that I wanted to do was make this video. I had been inspired to take footage of a day that I went out with my SX-70 and shot pictures of magnolias and then with my Canon Digital Elph I filmed the pictures while they were developing. I’d also taken some beach footage while Andy and I stole away to Pacific Grove last weekend. And did I mention that I found a really awesome pair of cowgirl boots, all tooled up and tricked out and fancy? (I feel shy about wearing them, yet when I do I feel like a total superhero. Where’s my cape and a trusty steed?)

I had such fun making this video, and it felt real and funny and true. It came together in about an hour, which is super fast for me with video making of this kind.

I share it with you, in the hopes that if you are going through a raw or tender place right now, it inspires adventure, or that you know you are not alone (you are never alone), or that you laugh, or that you feel the urge to go wake up your cat to pet her cute little nose. Something.

I love the last line of the song: “Even breathing feels alright.”

I feel like I can breathe, again. Turns out it was me who needed to give myself permission.

Taken in Santa Cruz, CA, this past weekend. Polaroid SX-70 + 600 film + ND filter.

A few weeks ago, almost without me noticing it, a quiet, sad little space made itself known in my heart and I felt a weighty tug of something. This journey of working for myself has brought so many unexpected gifts, and not all of them are easy to sit with. I have learned:

* That I equate “success” with financial success, far more than I would like to admit, and defining success in this way means defining failure in dollars and cents, and that seriously does not serve me.

* That all that I had learned around not being a workaholic teacher is needing to be re-learned now that I am working for myself.

* That social marketing still tends to feel more awkward and painstaking to me than anything else; It is real work for me to find things to Tweet about or post to FB about that really seem like they will add value to people’s lives.

* That when I don’t find something easy, in this arena of working for myself I am more tempted to throw up my hands and quit (I think that that impulse comes in because the Fear is SO BIG that quitting sounds easier, like a vacation–which verifies what people say about how people quit most often and are most resistant to really shifting around the things that are most important to them and that would bring the most benefit to their lives).

* That I take things personally.

* That working for myself in this job, this powerful capacity, is something that I have prepared for my entire life. All of the organizational skills, planning, page layouts, web design, writing, all of it…it is all feeding into what I do now. Which is scary crazy wonderful synchronous and delicious and also quite useful, and sometimes tedious.

* That the reason this is so scary is because I am putting my all into it in a way that I have not put my all into something before, and everything I do has my name on it.

* That I must be first in line to get behind my own choices.

* That I carry a Story that when life is confusing, one must push forward push forward push forward (also: I systematically carry that Story as a badge of honor while I don’t want to admit to carrying that Story because, you know, it looks all drill-sergeant-ey). And that the most courageous thing for me to do in this moment is to not push.

I define courage as: feeling afraid, diving in anyway, transforming. Last week I realized with much clarity that I have reached a place where what I’m most afraid of is not moving moving moving. There is something about the moving that gives me a sense of control but of course–it’s not really control. It’s not really powerful. It’s actually quite tiring. It was feeling too many days of tired and overwhelmed that caused me to turn to Andy this weekend and say, “Let’s get out of town for the weekend.” It was like a breath of fresh air entered the room to think of just stepping away.

Surf Shop, Santa Cruz, CA. SX-70 + 600 + ND filter. Also, site of where Kate Swoboda was victorious in SMOKING Andrew Rado’s butt at Ms. PacMan.

So we decided to go down to Pacific Grove on Saturday, where we went for my birthday. And at the very last second before we would turn towards Pacific Grove, we ended up going to Santa Cruz and spending a day there before we headed farther down the coast. Slowly, something in my shoulders unlocked and I found myself calmer–and then, in the middle of the night I noticed I was having “To-Do List Dreams,” which are not really dreams at all but my body saying, “Hey, you need to take care of this and this and this!” During the day, I was fine, but at night my worries came up (“You won’t get it all done!” was howling, even in the face of actually being able to get it all done, all finished, all complete).

Andrea wrote here and here about creating a clearing. (P.S. I think Andrea is an immensely powerful woman). I read her most recent entry on that and I thought, “Wow, I wish I could do that; how lovely it would be to create a clearing.”

Then it occurred to me: YOU CAN.

The new level of the Courageous Year starts this upcoming weekend, and I know that I want to be very present and available for that. So I am creating a mini-clearing for myself in this little space before things start, doing only minor updates over the next few days and automating the rest. And I notice that I know how much I am in need of that clearing because instead of being totally and completely behind my choice and excited, which is how I normally feel when stepping into self-care, I notice feelings of:

scared * worried * anxiety * fear of judgement

coming up, instead. And I know myself well enough to see these as guides, as signposts that there is something in me that needs more nourishment. I don’t “live” in any of the places I identified above as that list of challenges. I don’t start with self-hate because sometimes I go there. I don’t spend a lot of time in discouragement. The tool is simply this: notice what’s coming up for me and ask what serves me best in response.

After spending the summer in Italy, I came home feeling so completely and totally powerful, like I was totally in my own skin and not at all wasting time worrying about what anyone else thought about anything. I was ROCKING out, and that wasn’t because of gelato or Italian light. It was because I slowed down.

So here I am: slowing down, taking this time, and trusting in what unfolds because only goodness can unfold in the face of self-care.

During this slow-down time for the rest of this week, I’ll ask myself the question I asked each morning in Italy: “What do you feel like doing, today?” I’ll spend time sitting with these sad spots, cradling them, noticing, and listening. Even just typing that–being willing to dive into those tender places–feels powerful.

If you are planning to register for the upcoming level of the Year, know that I will get all of your information and all of that–my computer time will simply be reduced this week, not eschewed altogether.

Cherry Blossoms, Santa Cruz.

Where would you most like to create a clearing for yourself, giving yourself some space and room, time to think? (P.S. Never underestimate the power of a mini-clearing. One unscheduled hour can be quite delicious).

———Never mind this: verifying a Technorati claim: XN2VQWX4XYN7

Photo credit: Thea Coughlin

Last week, I did this really lovely interview with Pixie Campbell, momma + artist + retreat leader extraordinaire for The Courageous Year (which starts in five days, for reals!). In essence, the interview was about integrating all of those aspects of herself, about not–as she put it–being a mom from X time in the morning until X time at night, at which time she could officially stop being “mom” and start being “creative.”

It was as she was sharing this that it hit me: I totally carry that Story, the Story that if I do have children I’ll need to divide myself, categorize myself, be one way at one time and another way at another time and divorce myself entirely from “real me.” I do see how on some level, we are always–with or without children–giving more attention to some parts of ourselves than others, and in that sense we are categorizing creatures. But I literally have carried this Story that having children will be a sacrifice that will require such compartmentalization that I could lose myself–and it utterly terrifies me.

So in the midst of this interview, as she’s sharing I’m having this “A-ha!” moment, and then when it was my turn to speak again, it was like: Out with it. (I actually kind of like “outing” myself. Do you? I think it’s delicious when someone else is courageous enough to do so and then that creates permission for me to wave my hand around and go, “I do that, too! I think that, too! I’m afraid of that, too!”).

You may already know a lot about Pixie, or perhaps you know very little. One thing that I think is the bee’s knees is that she is going to be leading a Pixie Session at Squam this year: http://squamartworkshops.com/sessions/session.php?id=11. If there is one thing I’ve picked up on from my friends who do have children, it’s that one certainly can raise kids in a bubble, but it’s a hell of an easier ride when there is community and support, other people around with whom to bond over silliness. I’ve felt really lucky that so many of our friends who have kids have actually embraced Andy and I as part of their “family” of sorts, even though we don’t have kids. I like being a part of witnessing something.

Yesterday afternoon I opened up a wee package from Pixie–in it was a card that lifted my spirit (her artwork was on the front) and some herbs. “Place this anywhere you need a charge,” it read.

So I’ve had it tucked close to my heart all of this morning.

Babies have been on the brain lately. Andy’s sister is pregnant with her first. I did a photoshoot a few weeks ago with this seriously scrumptious baby, the kind of baby where you want to nibble on its widdle fin-ders and toesies. And then yesterday evening, Andy and I caught the tail of a baby shower that we had originally thought we’d miss, and I had my camera equipment with me so the next thing you knew, Andy played “gear boy” and I did a photoshoot right there–radiant swelling belly and lots of kisses from dad-to-be and the light up on top of a hill overlooking the entire bay area was that utterly perfect golden light.

Being a parent scares me, but, as I told Pixie, I am so glad that she’s in my stable of people to call when I have no idea what in the hell I’m doing and need someone to tell me that that’s okay.

View of the Bay Bridge. February, 2010.

When I was in graduate school getting my Master’s in English (Creative Writing), I remember Pam Houston saying on the topic of first novels and the rush to publication, “You’re only a virgin, once.”

There was so much communicated in that statement. I felt as though for one instant, I could see that for as badly as I wanted to publish a book, I needed to watch out and make sure that the moment did not blow me by, because this space of not-knowing, of not being pressured to produce (because apparently, the 2nd-novel pressure is a hell all unto itself) was in fact a great thing. There is space in that place before there are any expectations.

I haven’t yet published a book (more than a few unpublished novels and short stories are filed away in my cabinet drawers; after years of pushing myself to send out my writing every single month, without fail, I have taken a conscious hiatus from all of it for the past two years). I don’t know what it’s like to feel pressure to produce a second novel, or to owe my writing to anyone on a consistent basis, and yet I am learning what it is like to invest myself fully in what I am passionate about. I am learning where my “off” switch is, and I am learning when to turn it off myself without waiting for sickness or exhaustion to tell me DANGER, WILL ROBINSON, TURN OFF NOW.

I really resonated with this article from Chris Guillebeau on working for yourself. In particular, with what he mentions about the crisis management aspect of things. Spambots are attacking my server, pinging and trying to find ways in, attempting to register themselves as members of my e-course? There’s no IT department to call for that. And unlike the days when the college I worked for sent students registration packets, login information, etc., that is work that I am doing myself. Not to mention navigating what feels authentic to me around marketing/getting the word out about what I do, without spending so much time on that that it no longer feels like I’m able to devote time to the work of growing who I am, keeping grounded with my personal tools, meeting with clients, responding to emails, etc.

Several people have asked me if I have any regrets. My answer? No. Absolutely not. I have no doubt in my mind that this space, right here, is where I’m meant to be at for this time in my life. Do you ever feel hit with that inner knowing, even when things are challenging? That’s what I feel I’m navigating. I like doing all that I do.

At the same time that I like it, it really surprised me when earlier this week I had some trouble sleeping and knew–just knew–that the reason for that was that I had way too much going on for this week. There really was nothing to be done about it–except offload my Story that it all “had to” be done and be willing to parcel out more time for self-care (which I promptly got started on). Assorted techie issues that go on behind the scenes have been causing enough problems that I’m doing some major reworking and overhauling and this work, quite simply, needs to be done. That’s all. But related to Chris’s comments on the unexpected things that go along with working for yourself, and in my quest to be totally transparent about my experience of working for myself, I gotta say: it did not even occur to me, not even once, when I was leaving my job, that I would have weeks where techie issues would require me being on the computer for long spaces of time. Now that I’m here, it’s like, “Well, duh. Who did you think would take care of that?” I simply didn’t! I was too excited about writing about courageousness, opening up more client time, and interacting with people.

And ohmigosh, this is of course the week when spring has sprung and it’s juicy and delicious and sunshine-ey outside, with the light just beckoning for me to come out and PLAY! Snap photos! Play hookey and see if the boss notices!

(Oh, wait. I’m the Boss Lady? Hmmm.)

There are a few things I’m doing that really help with the feelings of overwhelm that can come up, however. A big one is padding everything. I add an extra 15-30 minutes onto each task in my daily calendar, assuming it will take more time than originally slated to take. If it doesn’t take that extra time, then whew! I get some time to just stare off into space, have some tea, sit on the porch in a patch of that sunshine. If it does take that extra time, I’m covered. Pad, pad, pad. I’m a big Time Padder.

Also, I take huge cues from Rich and Yvonne Dutra-St.John of the Challenge Day organization. These folks, who have an MTV show about their work starting soon, who have been on Oprah multiple times, (and who are slated to be interviewed for my e-course–yowza!), are some of the busiest people on the planet. Yet the way they plan their calendar is via their priorities–they plan time for one another first, and then the other stuff comes second. My coach, Matthew, often reminds me that if you want to know what someone is really about, look more at what they do than what they say. Rich & Yvonne prioritize their relationship, and that’s not just talk. Taking a tip from them, Andy and I set aside Saturdays for each other. Both of us are inordinately busy, with Andy frequently enough needing to turn away design work (so if you are ever interested in having him do something for you, contact him well in advance of the deliverable date and be prepared to pay for good quality time and good quality work), plus we have time with friends, periods that we schedule to get alone time away from one another and immersed in solo fun, workshops, groups we participate in, photoshoots…before we began setting Saturdays aside as our day, every day was jam packed and we’d tell ourselves, “Well, we haven’t seen one another all week, but we’ll spend time together on the weekends.” And then the weekends got that way, too. More than once I’ve noticed a bit of “energy” coming from people when I declined to make plans on a Saturday because that day is a day we hold for one another, and yet I know that my highest priority is my relationship to myself, followed by my relationship to my partner, and if I don’t make space for those two in my life, I get grumpy real quick.

So I think sometimes of Pam’s comment about only being a virgin once, and I think about how busy life has become since I began working for myself. I think of simplifying, and feel really grateful that Andy and I had begun doing that work before we traveled and house-sat last year. I was thinking today that really, we don’t have much more than we absolutely need. The clutter that comes into my life now is of the time-oriented variety, and as long as I pad liberally and don’t attach to much of a “have to” Story to anything, and as long as I’m willing to shift in response to noticing that I’m not particularly happy (placing happiness as a higher priority than getting work done), my life works.

Two book recommendations related to this: Jen Louden’s “The Life Organizer” and “Living the Simple Life” by Elaine St. James are both excellent and practical resources that offer ways to work with micro-movements, not the overwhelming to-do list project of a complete life overhaul.

The Courageous Year begins in less than two weeks, and the first thing we start out with is Self-Care. How are you doing with Self-Care, lately? What creative ways have you managed your time and made time for your highest priorities, first?

When it comes to manifesting, the “law of attraction,” or anything else, I just don’t know.

I fall somewhere in a dogged and complicated middle of those things, somewhere where I don’t necessarily need proof of the existence of anything scientific, because I believe what I believe and know that what I do believe has no scientific “proof.” I do believe in some kind of higher power, some kind of Universe, some kind of something that is bigger than all of us. Would I call it god? Sure, okay–why not? But would I call this “Something” a Christian god? Islamic god? Jewish god? The god-dess? No. Do I believe that this “god concept/Something” looks down on all of us and judges our behavior? Nah. (I mean, talk about “creating god in one’s own image–a god that is so petty as to judge and condemn, a god that cannot rise above all meanness? I’m not on board with that).

Also, I give myself an open permission to change and shift around the issue of a higher power or energy or manifesting or any of that, as life brings me more experiences for evaluation.

Also, I completely support anyone participating in any kind of organized religion or spiritual practice, or not participating. I support a policy of going with what resonates with you, and figure that if it’s not a comfortable experience for me to be negatively judged for my own beliefs, then it’s probably not a comfortable experience for anyone else if I were to judge them. 

But the point is that I do believe in some interwoven and connected and very complicated concept of “Something” out there. I explain the background of my beliefs as preliminary arguments for me to explain why I do support the concept of manifesting, even as I cannot explain begin to explain how it works (yup, I’ve heard the quantum physics theory. It’s plausible–as are a number of other scientists who debunk the theory. We are a society who still can’t decide if bread is good for us, who constantly changes our mind about things based on new and emerging research–so who is to say who is right?)

I believe a few things. I believe that I manifested my current partner. I believe that a few months of heavy-duty visualization, affirmations, and other assorted practices did in fact somehow, in some way that I cannot explain, draw us to one another. The series of events upon which I base this could be seen by skeptics as total bunk. I’m okay with that because I believe that the true test of one’s convictions is how comfortable they are with someone else disagreeing with them. But here they are–I began doing these manifesting exercises such as visualizing myself with a partner, affirming that I was ready for a partner, making up a calendar in which I programmed in open space each day of the week as a sort of declaration to the universe at large that I was available to spend time with someone. In the weeks before I met Andy, I had a series of dreams in which ex-boyfriends, boyfriends from years and years ago, came to me and asked me to take them back. To each one, I said “no.” Then, after Andy and I had had our first phone call and set up our first date (we met via a local online dating site that now no longer exists), we actually saw one another at the grocery store before our first date. We ambled up and down aisles, kind of scoping one another out while we grocery shopped but neither of us approaching one another for fear of the embarrassment that could come: (“Excuse me, but, are you the person I’ve been talking to from that online dating site? Oh, you’re not? Oh. Okay. Great. Sure. Bye.“) Throughout my entire life, I have had crushes on an inordinate number of Andrews (to the point where I once remarked to a friend, “I’m always crushing on Andrews.”) Andy has dated two other Kates. 

Irrefutable proof? Of course not. Yet I believe sincerely that because I was putting myself out there as someone desiring a partner with precisely the specifications that my quite handsome, patient, and altogether wonderful man (did I mention that he is Italian???) came with, I also believe that I created that experience.

On a purely practical level, it can be said that I created the experience of this relationship because I wasn’t willing to settle for the other dudes who came my way. Like the charming guy at the post office who seemed to sizzle with chemistry but then later revealed that he did “a little recreational cocaine”? Yeah. I dropped that. I didn’t stick around to see if I could change him. I was clear on my deal-breakers from the start. Cocaine use? DEAL-BREAKER. (And can I just say that the choice was totally validated weeks later, when he called me out of the blue and told me that we were like two orbs of light vibrating with beautiful intensity, etc., etc.?)

The same thing goes for the commitment-phobe in college who tried to convince me that wanting monogamy was a symptom of control issues. The sex was pretty hot, and I was admittedly lonely, and we did have a pretty good time the rest of the time–but at the end of the day, even when I was hardly asking him to put a ring on my finger, there was something about the idea of a relationship that just didn’t sit right with him, even though he tried to go along with it as best he could. So we broke up. That one was hard, for me. Was it the “law of attraction” that made us a mis-match? Nah. I don’t think so. Was I creating the life I wanted by letting go of that relationship in order to remain open to something new? Totally.

I have had any number of strange and amazing experiences with money, as well. Experiences like jobs I needed that fit my schedule perfectly coming through at the exact last possible second, and everything happening in such a way that had it happened even slightly differently, I would not have received the call I needed to receive, things like that, and thus would not have had the job. Experiences like old employers hunting me down even without forwarding addresses in order to find me and get back-pay to me. 

It seems to me that whether one calls it the “law of attraction” or simply “I create a good life through making choices that are a match for what I want,” there are certain commonalities that are needed: First, one must be open to anything and not have a belief that something won’t happen. Second, one must start putting action forward to make things happen. Third, one must believe they’re worthy of receiving something. Fourth, one must believe that it’s going to happen even in the midst of seeming obstacles (for instance, had you asked me if I’d find a great life partner when I was dating Commitment Phobic Man, I’d have said no. But of course, I did need to date that guy, learn what I needed to learn from that relationship, and then move on to my next in order to have the wisdom that would prepare me for future relationships. Had I decided based on Commitment Phobic Man that there were “no good men left,” how would that have served me?).

One question I like to ask myself from time to time when I am feeling particularly resistant to stepping into integrity/my vision for myself, is this one: Am I willing to live as though manifesting is true?

If I am presented with any challenge in life, asking that question places me squarely in a place of accepting responsibility for whatever I have created in my life. If I am presented with any challenge in life, that question places me absolutely in a place of being the one responsible for changing its circumstances. Since the principles behind manifesting are based on things like thinking positively, I am willing to step into a space of choosing positively and believing, even without proof, because my alternatives (negative thinking? feeling hopeless?) don’t feel powerful. 

For a long time, I was in a place where I thought that I really needed that proof. Now, I don’t think I do. I’m willing to let life shape me, to trust my instincts and what resonates with me on a feeling level rather than a proof level. 

Without starting a religious debate here, or even a “does god exist?” debate–let’s skip those issues altogether–I’m curious to know: Do you believe in manifesting, the “law of attraction,” or something else? What amazing things have you either manifested or created based on choices, in your life?

So, on Friday I interviewed Jen Louden for the Courageous Year. Ooooh, this was exciting for me! I dig what she writes about on her website and was gifted with The Life Organizer a few years ago and think what she speaks to is really wonderful and true. As a “for instance” of wonderful and true, one of the early things she brought up in the interview was the pressure that can be felt for those of us who are leading retreats, coaching, counseling, etc., to “live up to our bios.” 

That was my first, “Thanks, Jen Louden!” moment–it’s so very true that I can take on a sort of pressure around “living up to my bio” at all times, even feeling reluctant to air my vulnerable spots. What a breath of fresh air to hear someone speak into that! (My guess is that anyone who is a parent knows what we’re talking about–you tell your kids yelling is not okay, yet sometimes you yell. You teach your kids to pay bills on time and honor commitments, yet sometimes you don’t pay bills on time or honor commitments–we are all so beautifully human. Sometimes, that moment when they look at you, in all your beautifully human contradictions, it’s uncomfortable, yes?).

Now, if you’ve been reading thisyhere website for awhile, you already know that one thing I’m on the lookout for in my own life, all of the time are Stories–those habituated ideas about “the way it is” that might not actually be true or might not serve me. Uncovering Stories is freedom, to me–and an essential part of building the framework for any shifts one wants to make in their lives, which is why I don’t start the Courageous Year off with to-do lists of goals. Anyone can do that, and it’s worthy work, but it’s going to result in discouragement as soon as one runs into a Story that feels particularly crap-tastic.

So this talk with Jen was such fun to me, and she was such a firecracker, enthusiastic, energetic. So Story #1, I think, was this idea that the Comfort Queen must be someone who, you know, spoke all calllllm. And in short sennnnnntences. With drawn out syllllllables. Because self-care is Zennnnn like.

We got into this great discussion of how people define self-care for themselves, and often not in the habitual ways. Yoga and meditation cushions are not for everyone, and that’s okay! Manicures are great for self-care–if that’s what works for you. Nature is okay. Books are okay. Sitting at Anthropologie and people-watching (a personal favorite) is okay. Punching bags are okay! 

But my favorite part of the interview was when I got to uncover my Story about time management. I asked her if she had her own daily practice, and it was not until she said, with total realness and zero shame and devoid of any “energy” around it: “Oh, I’ve moved in and out of a regular self-care practice for years.” 

So simple. So complete. She’s moved in and out of such a practice. That’s all. No shame. No blame. No guilt. No “I’ve figured it all out and in 3 easy steps and for a bazillion dollars, you can, too!” shuckster-ism. 

This completely exposed, for me, a Story that even though I am more conscious than I used to be, and even though I fully accept myself as being on a continuum, stepping into a practice–wowza, that Story is still there that someone else has figured out how to have this really balanced life. Really? Yup. Still there. I still totally expected her to break down some kind of really cool morning practice deal that devoted 5 minutes to, say, 5 cool things, and then she started her day all balanced up and ready to roll.

Instead, her response about her practices was one that involved a lot of making room for her life, adapting and adjusting her life to what was before her, and not setting herself up for failure by buying into “all or nothing” thinking that it had to look a certain way, and admitting that sure, sometimes she fell away from her practice and then got conscious about that and stepped back in.

I feel as if we could all start up a cheer: “Thanks, Jen Louden!”

Jen’s work is really great, so check out her website if you are interested. There are a number of free resources on her website.

And by the way–my next interview is with the amazing Pixie Campbell, who is a mother, artist, and retreat-leader. Are there any questions you’d like me to ask her? Post them here.

(click the link above to download the e-book)

To round out e-book week, I’m offering a PDF version of the Job Suckage Challenge. Now, the “Stop the Job Suckage Challenge” was something I ran from January 1-10th of this year, offering day-by-day exercises for looking at why our jobs can sometimes suck, and why they might not be the sole cause of blame. Many people don’t like their jobs–my feeling is that in some cases this is actually a thing that can be improved or remedied, in other cases the job isn’t the problem at all (it’s the scapegoat that gets the blame), and in still other cases the job truly isn’t a match and that it’s a powerful practice to get fully in integrity with oneself before attempting to leave any relationship, including a relationship to a job.

If you’re taking this challenge, I strongly suggest that you take it one day at a time, no flipping ahead (no peeeeeking!). There is something about the element of surprise and also giving yourself time to marinate in between exercises that I think will be really  helpful.

On this note of clarifying the often complicated feelings that we have about our jobs–what are some exercises, books, tools, tips, resources, quotes, mindsets that you’ve found helpful around “job stuff”? I’m thinking of perhaps an exercise you might have done in a workshop that really helped you clarify what you wanted, or a book that really resonated with you. Please share–I know that feeling “ick” around jobs is a very common phenomenon and I bet there are people here who would be helped!

Registration for The Courageous Year closes today…Click here to register and reserve your spot. The course includes interviews with amazing people like Christine Mason Miller and Jen Louden and Pixie Campbell, among others, as well as a 100-page e-book, conference calls (optional), and an amazing community.

McCabe and me, in San Francisco.

On Monday, I read about Brene Brown’s worthiness week and jumped right in–sign me UP! I had already prepared a series of blog posts for this week so that the e-books would all be in one place, but then this inspiration to write about worthiness hit and I decided I’d just do more than one post, some days.

And then Monday, it didn’t happen. And Tuesday, it didn’t happen. And Wednesday, it didn’t happen. And while I am extremely busy these days (far busier than I ever was working my “normal” job; keep that in mind if you’re planning to jump ship at some point) I also sensed that deeper down there was something going on, some point of Resistance.

Today, it occurred to me that there is some part of me that still hesitates to claim the places where I don’t feel worthy. Some of that is due to not wanting to make disheveled a credential. I hesitate to talk about things in written form until I feel I can verbalize them in some way, because goodness knows my words are often enough misinterpreted even when I think I’ve got a clean idea of how to verbalize what I’m thinking. But no–this time, it was not “waiting for the words to come clearly,” it was “I don’t want to publicly claim my feelings of unworthiness.”

Especially because–ahem–when I let go of my job a few months ago, a new area of unworthiness popped up for me, and totally unexpectedly, and it didn’t start when I decided to let go of my job while I was still finishing up the last few months–it started right when I was officially working for myself. Basically, here it is–

Sometimes, I feel unworthy of working for myself. Like I’m having too much fun and getting away with something. Like it’s “not fair” that I would be doing XYZ with my life while someone else isn’t liking their job or their life. Then, when the inner critic is done with that, in begin the messages that I’m ridiculous because “there are more important things in life to have drama about–people have cancer. People are losing their house. People’s kids die. GET OVER YOURSELF.”

(P.S. RE-Do, PLEASE!)

Now. Part of the reason I hesitate to claim the feelings of unworthiness in this space (because I have claimed it elsewhere) is because I don’t want to be read as “living there.” Sometimes coaching clients will feel really sad about something and then they tell themselves, “Well, I don’t want to wallow.” My response is that wallowing = “living there,” in the anger, the grief, the resentment, whatever. I won’t support living in that anger/grief/ick feeling, but I do support visiting for the purposes of getting it out of your system. In my view, it’s totally normal to cry when you feel sad, vent when you feel frustrated, and process out anger when you’re pissed. All of those can happen without “living there.” It can sound so BIG to read someone claim their feelings of unworthiness and then, in that 2-dimensional way that we human-beings are prone to, assume that that’s the entire story.

It’s not.

And yet, I recognize the healthiness of verbalizing and claiming my feelings of unworthiness–that sometimes, I really do feel like I am undeserving of something, like I received something and cheated somehow to get it, even though of course, there was no cheating. There was/is a hell of a lot of hard work, setbacks, challenges, re-dos, and feeling my inner little girl rise up and get frustrated because she just wants to “get it, already!”

You know: To GET it. To understand everything, before giving it time for understanding.  To know all the answers–NOW!

I really liked this, from Brene: “Yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn’t change the truth that I am worthy of love and belonging. “ 

So, having talked about unworthiness, I would like to talk about worthiness.

I have been thinking about this: “When I give to others what I would most like to receive, my whole world shifts.” This is something that popped into my head last week and it lifted my heart. I believe that the things we most want to receive are things like compassion, second chances, love, belonging, trust that our ideas have merit, opportunities for expression (creative and otherwise). And inclusion–big time with inclusion. I think that we want to feel like a part of something that is even larger than ourselves. A group, a cause, a belief system. 

I was thinking of “When I give to others what I would most like to receive…” and how that thought takes me so easily out of playing small, waiting for something external to me to change. I want to feel worthy in my life–and I want others to feel worthy, too. So how might I invest myself in that? How might I do something for the collective whole by putting something out there that is a direct contradiction to Stories about worth?

I am worthy of inclusion.

I am worthy of inclusion even if I make mistakes.

I am worthy of the time to have my mistakes explained to me and I am worthy of second chances.

I am worthy of time to rest.

I am worthy of a career I love.

I am worthy of supporting myself financially with that career. I am worthy, in fact, of not living hand-to-mouth doing it and even going beyond that. It is okay.

I am worthy of a rest, of taking a break.

I am worthy of deep, true truth-telling and of being able to tell my truth.

I am worthy of my partner’s love (and he loves so big that to be quite honest, sometimes his kindness tooootally triggers my “worthiness spots.”)

I am worthy of all the good in life.

And so are you.

What do you want to declare yourself worthy of receiving–that you would also like to open yourself to giving to others?

(click on the link above to download the e-book)

There are stories and then there are Stories. I equate Stories–the capital S kind–as being about habitual actions and assumptions that we have put into practice for so long that we don’t think about them any longer. We all carry them. Some serve us more than others.

For instance, it’s a Story that I tell that the world is fundamentally good and I believe in people. I like that one! It’s a nice swap for the one I held maybe five years ago–that people were fundamentally selfish and that I wouldn’t believe in anyone until they’d proven themselves to me in some way. (I mean…ouch).

What are some Stories you’ve told about yourself or about the way life works? What would it be like to let go of them?

Freedom, I say. One of my tenderest Stories–one I carried for a long, long time–is that men were just out for sex and that they would violate boundaries at the first chance they had. I had a lot of examples to go along with that experience, so that Story seemed really, really real for me. It was after meeting men who didn’t have those intentions that I was able to shift something within myself and practice a new Story: Men (like women!) come in all shapes and sizes, and some are more trustworthy than others, and I am a competent woman who is clear on what her boundaries are and how to speak up if they are breached.

Another Story–that the only way to have creativity in my life was with a great studio, a thriving Etsy shop, and a series of hung shows. The way that that Story was interrupted was when I saw how unhappy I was with that lifestyle–trying to pull together enough work for a show, constantly comparing myself to other artists and what they were doing and were they better, the physical work of hanging a show, finding storage for pieces in between a show, cleaning up that sassy studio…these days, I far prefer a little table in my office. When I do creative work, it’s a treat. When I don’t, it’s fine. No pressure.

So what Stories do you tell? What would it be like to let go of those?

Speaking of stories (the lowercase kind), here are some that are told about The Courageous Year (registration ends tomorrow!).

“I feel like I am getting a lot of support out of this course. I am the kind of person who dithers a lot about committing to things like this, but I am so glad I trusted my instincts with this one. I would recommend it (and have done!) to whoever asks.  The lessons are so well thought out, communicated clearly and have had an immediate impact on my life for the most part. I also like that it’s kept fun.” — E. S.

“I feel I am getting numerous valuable tools to help me in my life.  It’s really interesting to begin to see how so many of these things are connected–the inner kid, the blame story, forgiveness, being in integrity with myself.  It’s been a chance for me to put a lot of pieces of my life-puzzle together, and in the process begin to either release, re-frame or forgive a great deal of the challenges I have had along the way.  It’s definitely freeing, and I’m so glad to have had the courage to begin the process.” — C. V.

“I have felt some major shifts within myself. I think just being able to recognize my “stories” for what they are, is huge. Having written down my values, and noticing my inner critic, are all of benefit…my friend was asking me if I would be happier to have the money to spend on something else, and all I could think about are the things that are most important to me – my values. And personal growth along with several others of them are a match for me with this course. I want to live BIG, and I know that I am capable, I just need more tools in my toolbox – and I’m getting those here. I also enjoy having a group of women to share the process with.” — D. W.

“I was on this path (of dreaming and achieving bigger and living by my values) anyway and this course is giving me good structure in which to keep on that path which some extra encouragement and tools along the way.  I have been surprised by some of what I have learned and that’s why I am continuing.” — E. H.

(click the icon above to download the e-book)

To continue with e-book week, today’s e-book is on…the inner critic. Crazily enough, I have this thing where I don’t call it a Gremlin or Monster or any names that connote awful things. I used to call it “the Gremlin,” and then stopped when I realized that the inner critic is a fear-based, scared part of myself–of each of us. If I want to embrace it, I would need to start by attaching a name to it that is more accurate and doesn’t have hints of offensiveness (I mean, would you be willing to work on being nicer to someone who was referring to you as a Gremlin?).

Instead of trying to push that inner critic away with affirmations and pretend it isn’t there–and instead of lashing ourselves harder with a whip, giving that inner critic all of our power, I think that we can work out ways to work with the inner critic, to retrain it so to speak. I think that managing the inner critic is critical to living courageously. I also think that it’s our responsibility to do it. No self-help book, guru, life coach, therapist, e-course, husband, amount of money, job, career, kids, etc., are going to “fix it” so that we feel more capable.

In addition, this book talks about how It’s a Practice–it’s a practice to refer again and again back to skills that serve us. It takes time to shift our lives. It’s easy to get discouraged and then decide to throw it all away and let the inner critic run the show.

(Click the icon above to download the e-book).

E-Book week continues–each day this week, I’m offering a new PDF downloadable e-book, utterly begging to be colored with pretty markers and crayons and whathaveyou (bring on the glitter, folks).

I love making these e-books. It seems like an almost irreverent way to take a serious topic or subject, something I’m excited about articulating, and then turning it inside out with pictures and funky text–squeezing the uber-seriousness right out of it and just having fun (because I do believe that “This stuff has to be SERIOUS” is a Story. And if you’re not yet familiar with capital-S Stories, wait until you see the e-book that comes out on that one!).

I wrote the following for the Free Resources page on my website, when I first made this book available:

I want to be clear about what I’m sharing as my vision for Courageous Living, and I wanted to offer free resources for you to try out. I don’t believe that Courageous Living is about sprinkling fairy dust and reciting affirmations (though hey, don’t knock that until you’ve tried it…). Rather, I see Courageous Living as being about embracing all that comes into the circle of your existence. Courageous Living is about making space for the hurt and pain in addition to–and to create more–joy and passion and alive-ness (and, hey–affirmations and fairy dust if that’s the way you roll, or more laughter over martinis with friends, or more sketching in a notebook in the grass, or more window shopping at Anthropologie, or more sipping kombucha while reading a design magazine. Seriously–all of it).

There’s a lot of discomfort in our society with “all of it.” We tend to want to pick and choose so that we only have the experiences that we say we want to have, and I think that this tips things out of balance. It also makes the things we say we don’t want feel more unpalatable, and creates a culture of people who look for ways to disconnect (usually through substances).

(Not to put too fine a point on it.)

So, then, I created this wee e-book on Courageous Living. It started out as a brainstorm and then as I was sitting at the desk it took on a life of its own, and before I knew it I was scanning pages and hitting ”save as > PDF.” Funny how those things happen, isn’t it?

I hope you enjoy. Feel free to pass along the link to the e-book!

If what I say here resonates with you, then you’ll also vibe with The Courageous Year (registration closes this week!).

By the way, what’s the most courageous thing you’ve done lately? If you step past all of the stuff about how “that’s not big enough to be courageous,” what have you done lately that you’re excited about?

——–

I had to come back and edit this post to add that I really love what Brene Brown is sharing about worthiness! She writes: ”

Wholehearted living is about engaging in our lives from a place of worthiness. It means cultivating the courage, compassion, and connection to wake up in the morning and think, No matter what gets done and how much is left undone; I am enough.

It’s going to bed at night thinking, Yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn’t change the truth that I am worthy of love and belonging.”

(Click the image above to download the e-book)

I started working on this e-book a few weeks ago, when I had this day where I felt this sort of…exhaustion with snarcky behavior. I was looking around and seeing stuff that didn’t sit well with me, seeing these “join in on the snarck” discussions and those didn’t feel good, yet I noticed that those who did/do speak out amidst those snarcky discussions often stand out as not going along with the group, not being cool enough. This is related to my post on how disheveled is not a credential, and this thing that happens where distinguishing oneself as part of one group becomes making the other group “bad.” I noticed that I felt that same tired feeling from high school (and, frankly, junior high), thinking that I felt bad for whomever was being talked about and wondering if it was me and feeling the unease and mistrust that gets cultivated during these conversations.

When could we all just relax and be ourselves and not worry that someone else was going to pop off some snarcky comment?

Though of course, I’m a reasonably smart cookie and knew that if I was getting triggered around this behavior then–dum, duh dum-dum…it is behavior that I either exhibit myself already or am afraid of exhibiting or have exhibited in the past and still feel bad about.

In my case, it’s all three. I still catch myself popping off snarcky comments. I know it’s mean and want to never do it again, so I’m afraid of doing it again. I have done it in the past and still feel bad about that (sometimes. I work on forgiveness, too).

So what would have started off as a book that was this burning condemnation of snarckiness everywhere ended up turning into admitting not only where I’ve gone wrong (way wrong!) with participating in snarcky behavior, but also with sharing a vision that I have for creating community that is not about that. With accepting people for who they are and where they are at. With holding space for one another during difficult times. With committing to disagreeing about behavior but not snarckin’ it up at someone else’s expense.

I have this idea that if more people started thinking that way, the world would start to feel like an easier place to navigate. What about you? Are you down with that?

P.S. It’s E-Book week, I’ve decided. Each day this week I’ll be sharing an e-book with you here, so bounce back to the blog each day to download and read any that you might have missed.

P.S.S. Speaking of wanting to create a great community, check out The Courageous Year (registration closes this week!) to create some lovely community of your own, and check out who’s already in the mix to share their wisdom!

Photo from www.bikramyogasouthslope.com

I can’t remember where or when I heard this, but I did read something somewhere once (I’m specializing in vague intros, huh?) a phrase: “You don’t work on the yoga. The yoga works on you.”

To some people, yoga is just yoga. It’s just this bendy stretchy form of exercise, and that’s it. While I admit that I am someone who is inclined to just a wee bit more analysis of things than other people, I have to say:

This yoga practice is changing my life.

Totally dramatic statement, yes? But there’s no other way to put it. It is bringing up everything–physically, mentally, emotionally. I have torrents of resistance to going in the morning, and then afterwards I am never sorry. If I don’t go, my body craves it. It brings up all of my issues around judgement and control. It brings up fear–like–I have a total fear of both “fixed fern” pose and “camel” pose. Here is the fear–that if I lean back, I won’t be able to sit back up and that the tendons around my knee cap will tear and I will have to have knee surgery.

Seriously, that is absolutely my fear–it is crystal clear. Pose = tendons tear in knees = knee surgery = knee permanently damaged.

Why I should have this fear, I don’t know. But I did do “fixed fern” this week for the first time, very slowly, and only when we were doing the second set because it was too scary to do it twice, and it was absolutely fine. My knee cap did not pop off. I keep noticing connections to the practice everywhere. When Jen Louden posted about the “scooped out pumpkin” this week, the first thing I was thinking of was my experience with Bikram, how there is resting between each posture and how it prepares you to give 150% to the next posture. I keep thinking of my word for 2010: surrender. I keep thinking of how I will go into that hot room and I don’t even fight it anymore. The room is hot; what else is new?

Now on to the good stuff, the stuff that doesn’t hint at the hippy-dippy new age talk that can make so many people squirm: I am finding that for me, Bikram yoga is a HIT. I think that everyone has “their exercise” that resonates with them. For me, the requirements of exercise are simple: I need to not hate it too much; it needs to give me the energetic benefits; it can’t keep me from doing things in my daily life; I need to lose any extra pudge if I have it and maintain my weight. By “maintain my weight,” I mean that I want to eat bread. Chocolate. Coffee. Cheese. All of it–in moderation, but all of it.

For years, running satisfied that need. Then almost two months ago, I tweaked something pretty badly in my neck and through working with a neuro-muscular therapist (it’s as sexy as it sounds, I tell people) I learned about some postures I’d been holding my neck in that were not helpful, and at this point in time, running is not a match for my body.

Bikram is a total match. I don’t hate it and it doesn’t keep me from doing things in my daily life (weight lifting has that unfortunate side effect of periods of seriously sore muscles).

Also: It is slimming out my tummy and thighs, giving me toned arms, a nice backside. Not in a “If I keep doing this for long enough, I’ll be a size two” kind of way, but in this really powerful, “I am rocking out and feeling fantastic in my own strong skin” kind of way. I think feeling fantastic in my own strong skin is a lovely way to feel.

Also: It is detox city around here. My body is–ahem–”processing food more often” shall we say, and while I did have a particularly nasty breakout, that’s starting to go away as well. I know that my symptoms are those of detoxing because when I’ve done juice cleanses, the effects have been similar. The nice thing about this version of detox is that I’m getting the rocking strong arms at the same time, rather than laying around on the couch feeling consumptive and weak the way I do right around Day Two of a juice cleanse.

Also: It is rocking out my posture. I’m not even trying to stand up straighter. I just notice that it’s happening. There are a number of poses in the sequence that really help with back muscles.

Assessment? Bikram yoga seriously rocks. Speaking of which, I attend Funky Door Yoga in Berkeley and I have a free 30-day pass. I’m happy to pass it along to the first person who comments below and then contacts me via email to get it (please comment below so that others reading this will know if someone has already claimed the pass, and then also email me with your physical address so that I can send you the certificate).

If you are interested in starting Bikram, a few suggestions:

Don’t wear long sleeves or long pants. A poor dear woman showed up for her first class today and was wearing long sleeves. Oh, my. Not in this heat.

Trust that the heat will stop bothering you (eventually).

Bring two bottles of water–one for during class, one for after. The one that is for after can have regular water in it. The one that is for during class, however, should have a teaspoon of salt and a teaspoon of sugar and a wee bit of lemon juice mixed in, before placing it in the freezer overnight. This will freeze the bottle into a chunk of ice that will rapidly disintegrate once you are in the yoga room. The wee bit of sugar, salt, and lemon will help to keep you hydrated during class (and tastes better, too).

Don’t be put off by the “Bikram talk.” When the instructors say things that sound really arrogant or confrontational, like, “Put your forehead to your knee. For those of you who don’t know, your forehead is that space above your eyebrows and below your hairline,” they are reciting a script. It’s not personal.

Don’t take the bait. My friend Jen said this after she pushed herself too hard in Bikram and reignited a back problem. The instructors are going to say things like, “Push your body harder!” or “Put your forehead to your knee, or the posture hasn’t even begun yet!” Just do what your body can do and stop at that. Don’t push harder if you think it’s not safe. Don’t struggle to put your forehead to your knee and worry that you’re not doing it right. Half the class doesn’t have foreheads to knees, so just do the best you can and leave the rest. After you’ve been practicing regularly for 6 weeks, then start questioning yourself if you’re not pushing. But before then? Focus on just doing what you can.

Arrive early to set up your mat, and if you arrive late and the only spaces left are the super hot ones at the front of the room, then–for the love of christmas–don’t put your mat right in front of someone else’s. Stagger mats so that the person behind you has at least a shot at seeing themselves in the mirror.

Finally, if you notice that you are feeling afraid of “fixed fern” or “camel pose,” I hear ya.

Happy Anniversary, Babe from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

So, WOW. Five years. Five years? FIVE YEARS.

Which isn’t a lot in the great grand scheme of relationships, but it sure does mean something to me.

It has been the longest relationship I’ve ever had.

The most challenging and difficult relationship I’ve ever had.

The most nurturing and loving relationship I’ve ever had.

I remember this one point, maybe right around the two year mark, where we were fighting with far more regularity and it was dawning on me like a white-hot lightning bolt of DUH that relationships were not like the movies. It is exceedingly unlikely that you will ever have just ONE argument about the way certain people angle the shower spigot and then water gets on the bathroom floor and no, it’s not a big deal in the great grand scheme of life, especially when you aren’t the one who always seems to step in said water puddles and have to clean them up, and sure, maybe the person who minds that there is water on the floor has some control issues, but must we deflect to that in this moment? Couldn’t we focus on this whole water on the floor issue without making it about my–er–someone’s control issues?

(This is a hypothetical argument, of course.)

Nope, it’s possible that you might have that SAME argument, you know, maybe ten or twelve times. Across a span of several years. In several different houses. With several different shower spigots.

Also, in another “not like the movies” twist–these arguments do not usually end with a naughty romp. There’s something about arguing about shower spigots that can really kill the mood. (Or so I hear, since, of course, as I said, this is all hypothetical).

But here’s the thing–in the midst of the assorted challenges we’ve faced, what has always shown me that this man was truly an amazing, wonderful, stand-up guy is that in between the challenges, we are hands-down the most PDA couple around, the most affectionate. We are the only couple we know under 40 who is perfectly happy to pack a bag with some drawing supplies and books, head out on the highway, stop in a town and peruse antique stores, then plop on a sofa in a coffee shop and sketch or read in silence.

Also, he pets my head when I can’t sleep and sometimes I tweak my neck in the middle of the night and wake up with horrible headaches so he fetches me Aleve. I am regularly surprised by flowers. I think he is the most talented and funny person ever. He is Numero Uno, absolutely positively first in line to support me in anything that I want to do. I can run anything by him and ask for his advice without worrying that he’s worrying about what is in it for him.

And finally, he’s Italian. I mean, all of the other loveliness and then on top of that, he’s Italian? Does anyone reading this really need any more evidence that manifesting works? (Speaking of which, I did do a series of different manifesting exercises in the weeks leading up to meeting him. Coincidence? Who knows? I ain’t complainin’).

The video above was made in 2006. It was one of those weird, happenstance things where he made some weird noise and I jokingly hit his chest and then we were laughing hysterically and then I begged to get in on video. Further proof that we are “just the right kind” of weird for one another.

—————-

My love, I adore you, respect you, and totally and completely honor who you BE. Thank you so much for the most powerful five years of my life! Happy anniversary!

~ Kate

My beautiful friend, Diana.

So we were at yoga this morning, chit-chatting about how–oof–5am just comes rolling in like a freight train, and how we’ve both needed to make lifestyle adjustments in order to make it to bed earlier in order to wake up earlier. Suddenly, I found myself able to verbalize something that I had been thinking about for days, weeks, months: being disheveled. For awhile now I’ve felt some feeling that something wasn’t quite right sometimes when I’d read a blog post on the subject , or I’d feel particularly satisfied with some aspect of my life and then some inner critic voice would rise up that I understood yet did not understand, such that I felt almost…guilty. You know, for doing things like getting up really early to go to yoga, or for getting my taxes done on time.

This thing that had been sifting around for awhile gained more clarity when a Courageous Year participant posted last week that she held a particular kind of Story around what it would mean for her to have her life in order, and it hit me that I had been carrying a Story that there is something “stick in the mud-ish” about things like regular bedtime schedules or healthy eating. I’ve picked up on that attitude for some time, especially in my early 20′s, but hadn’t really thought much of it because the “stick in the mud” vibes were coming from people who, you know, had yet to realize that spending all of one’s money on alcohol and dragging your ass home from the umpteenth walk of shame isn’t sexy! sassy! Carrie Bradshaw the redux! or daring! It is, simply, dragging your ass home after drinking. No reinventing the wheel, there. But still getting that vibe even as I get older and we’re all supposed to be adults is something that I confess I find a little unsettling.

Yvonne from Challenge Day relays a story both in Be the Hero as well as at Next Step workshops, and it is this–that there was a point in high school when she was overweight and unpopular, and then she lost the weight and managed to become popular. For awhile things were fine, until then, suddenly, the other girls turned on her. People started spreading rumors that she was stuck-up and conceited. It was at that point, she relates, that she realized: “No one is winning at this game.”

It was this morning that I was finally able to articulate what was bothering me when I was talking to Diana–it bothers me to see people displaying “disheveled” as a credential, as if it is somehow more authentic. I think that there is beauty in all of the rough places of our lives, and I feel under no illusions what.so.ever. that there is anyone–not anyone–who has things all perfectly together, all of the time (and while I don’t get a vibe that anyone thinks I have it all together, it goes without saying that I myself am included in that statement).

Though, with that said, I should clarify. I think that there is something really powerful in declaring where our vulnerabilities and weaknesses are. What I hear people say most often about when others expose their rough patches is that it makes it easier to accept their own–and that’s true for me, too. Where I think the line gets blurred is when it starts to either directly or energetically create divisions, with the “people who have it all together” on one side getting labeled as conceited or arrogant, while the crowd who views themselves as “more real because we don’t have it all together” on the other, using “disheveled” as some kind of credential for authenticity.

No one is winning at that game.

I mean, isn’t it ridiculous! (I’m sort of laughing as I type this, because it is). Who has anything, ever, all totally wrapped up? What if we stopped with the comparisons and relaxed into this simple fact, and instead of beating ourselves up over what someone else is able to create for themselves (especially when we don’t know the whole story by the time it’s filtered through a blog post), what if we were to see our craving of a particular way of being as a gift? Someone else is doing it and you’re not? Fantastic. They are proving that it can be done. What if you joined them in what they are trying to create?

I know that a big booming inner critic voice might pop up that says, “THEY WOULDN’T WANT ME!”

But you know what? If someone is really living an authentic and big vision that is a match for your vision, they will want you. Maybe they won’t have the space in their lives to make you their new best friend, but they will have some kind of interest in what you uniquely have to offer. Speaking for myself, I genuinely treasure every comment to this site, every email, every tweet or post to facebook. I view it as someone participating in my life and what I want to create, and I appreciate that! If someone doesn’t respond with wanting you, avoid the Story of not-enoughness. Skip it entirely (unless you believe it serves you in some way). Step instead over to the one that is about you creating your life, doing the best you can with what you’ve got among a sea of people who are all doing the best they can with the skills that they have. The so-called perfect bloggers, the advice columnists, the woman down the street who looks like a Stepford Wife…we do them a collective disservice when we do not fully “see” them for who they are.

We do ourselves a collective disservice if, in response to the insecurity that arises from all of those comparisons, we decide to play small by taking on “disheveled” as a new identity.

Authentic is living your vision for your life, and that’s what you make it.

I found this meme at a blog and started looking around to figure out who started it, and didn’t find it (everyone was linking to someone else who linked to someone else…) and now I’m not remembering the blog I found it on. Well, then. Sheesh.

I don’t usually get into memes and things, but this one struck me as tender. I am in one of those cycles where I am noticing all of my tender places and feeling them more acutely and wanting them to be less hidden.

I smell: fantastic.