Your Courageous Life

I’m continuing with my Keys in Courageous Marketing from the Courageous Marketing Manifesto, a way that I’m defining for myself what is comfortable to me and what is not around spreading the word about what I do. If you missed Part One, read it here.

Key #8: Create win-wins. My favorite kind of Courageous Marketing, my de-facto, my default, the thing that I like to do the most, is anything that creates a win-win. I admire greatly the people who are so popular on the web that people will blog about them or tweet about what they’re doing without any prompting. Certainly, it would be nice if a whole collection of people were going, “Gee, that Kate Swoboda. She’s spiffy. Let’s share what she does with others” and I needn’t do a thing. But even if that were the case, I think I’d still immensely enjoy win-win marketing: both of us win. So for instance, any time you see an interview online, that’s totally marketing. Of course it is. But to me, it’s win-win marketing. If I do an interview for someone and they post it on their website, I win because their readers learn about me and they win because they get content on their site that their readers want to see. I’m going to spread word about the interview, and so will they. Danielle LaPorte did this beautifully when launching The Fire Starter Sessions, recently (see below for the link).

And if you’ve been thinking of seeing if we could collaborate on an interview, but were afraid to ask? Ask away!

QUESTION: How do you create win-wins with what you do in your job?

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* Truth Never Attacks: An Interview With Danielle LaPorte

I’m continuing with my Keys in Courageous Marketing from the Courageous Marketing Manifesto, a way that I’m defining for myself what is comfortable to me and what is not around spreading the word about what I do. If you missed yesterday’s Key, visit the “flying solo” category.

Key #7: Honor my work in my way, even if it differs. You’ve probably noticed that just about every other coaching site out there has packages. Lots and lots and lots of packages. Small packages and big ones and upgrades. I’ve heard that some coaching schools include courses on marketing as part of their programs and that the package thing is big. For years now, I’ve thought about the package concept. Did it work for me? And what I keep coming back to is that it’s not a match. For some coaches, it seems to work beautifully in attracting clients. It doesn’t vibe for me. Mostly because I think to myself that I worked for two years (and continue to find ways to work more) to gain a specific skillset in how I show up, how I am present, with another human being, and that that skillset is valuable and outside the realm of needing to be packaged to help ease someone into buying. I don’t see therapists–who trained in their own, different but just as valuable skillset–offering packages. Or doctors. Or lawyers. Or teachers. Or artists. Or accountants. Or really anyone, except in a few select industries and the coaching industry happens to be one of them. So I just do a flat-rate because that’s what resonates with me and I know I’m worth my rate (and other coaches can laugh at me and roll around naked in piles of cash; that’s okay). This doesn’t just happen with packages, by the way. It happens with how coaches use certain terms (the inner critic vs. gremlin vs. monster vs. self-hate vs. whatever being a term that many people differ greatly on). At the end of the day, I’m behind my choice and trusting that they are behind theirs (so I honor them for that. My way’s not better, it’s just my way).

On Monday, I’ll be updating with Key #8, Create win-wins. In the meantime:

QUESTION: How do you honor yourself with what you do? Is there anything that’s commonly practiced by others in your field, that you consciously choose not to do because it just doesn’t resonate for you?

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I’m continuing with my Keys in Courageous Marketing from yesterday’s Courageous Marketing Manifesto, a way that I’m defining for myself what is comfortable to me and what is not around spreading the word about what I do. If you missed yesterday’s Part One, read it here.

So we continue:

Key #6: Don’t over-do it. Now, the “over-doing” it part is highly personal. So as you read what I write next, keep in mind that I’m just sharing what works for me, within my own concept of Courageous Marketing. For instance, I think “over-doing it” shows up in the form of attaching one’s business name to everything. I personally am turned off when I’m in a space that is supposed to be ad/marketing free, such as an e-course, and someone is using an icon of their business instead of a photo, or their business name as a username, or a tagged link to their business appears with every post. I find it has the opposite effect–instead of being more interested in what the person might offer, I want to get away from it. It doesn’t feel authentic, because I know that that person is not their business. The person is a person first– a brand or business, second. Now, I have heard that it’s something like for every 1,000 times someone sees your business name, only 1% of the time will someone act. Something like that. I wonder if that idea is changing in the new business world, because people today know when they’re being marketed to. I know that that top-level athlete doesn’t really drink a ton of soda in order to improve his basketball game–he’d be an idiot to do that. You know it, too. So I’m thinking that over-marketing it something like telling a joke one too many times. I’d rather open my heart in a real way with you the few times I do encounter you, than practically use blinking text and a highlighter to let you know when I’m opening an e-course again (And again, some marketing people might laugh at me while they roll around naked in their cold, hard cash; that’s okay).

Tomorrow, and each day for the next several days, I’ll be posting one new Key, some piece that resonates with me about how to share what I do in a way that honors who I am. Are you on board?

So I share the Courageous Marketing Manifesto with you because I know that there are some entrepreneurs out there, some people who are also working on how to find ways to get the word out about what they do, to risk being seen, and they want to do what works but they also want to do what feels good and authentic. Feel free to pass this along.

QUESTION: What would you add to this? What is “too much” for you? How do you know the difference (for you) between “too much” and “fear of being seen”?

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* The Courageous Marketing Manifesto (Part One)

* Truth Never Attacks: An Interview With Danielle LaPorte

On the side of a newspaper dispenser in San Francisco.

Okay. So. Those of you who have been following my blog for awhile now, know that an area of seeming discontent for me has been around marketing.

Here I am. I run a business. I need to “market myself.”

But what exactly does that mean? I found it both surprising and–to be completely honest–a bit disappointing that much of my time would necessarily be taken up with learning about, and implementing, something that involved “marketing myself.” I laugh to think of it now, but it seriously did not occur to me that this was something I’d need to spend much time on beyond getting my website in good shape, SEO-wise. And as a side note? I am not a fan of the word “marketing.” It’s too similar in my head to another m-word…”manipulation.”

It seems to me that at the heart of most marketing messages is some attempt on the part of the person/entity doing the marketing to make whatever is being sold seem as easy and effortless to implement as possible. And I have been so, so resistant to participating in that because let’s be real. With what I do, working with people–frankly, sometimes transforming yourself and rocking out your life, and sometimes even just relaxing enough to have fun and PLAY is not so easy and effortless, is it? I’m not committed to a Story that it “has to” be hard and I’m convinced that a ton of fun can be had along the way. But the quick n’ snappy , 1-2-3 steps to a perfect life thing? Nah.

There are a few keys I think I’m picking up along the way, and I’m pulling them together into my idea of what I call “courageous marketing.” Yes, that’s right. I am redefining it for myself because in the face of some of the stuff I see online, it seems I have the choice to either get defeated or to empower myself to construct it for me.

So here’s Part 1 of my Courageous Marketing Manifesto, complete with handy-dandy Keys that I use to determine what works for me, and what doesn’t.

Key #1: Show up online like I show up in the world. That is to say: silly, tenderly irreverent, funny, joyFULL, committed to my vision, in process, willing to ask good questions, observant, intelligent, serious, not too serious, willing to be utterly random. This is #1 for me, because if I start even trying to write copy that conforms to anything I’m not actually interested in writing about, my joy levels go way down–and that is not why I decided to start doing work that I love.

Key #2: Make my courageous marketing work about how I can a.) get the word out about what I do, while b.) being completely transparent as to what I see the process being about, while c.) letting people know that I’ve done my own work, I continue to do my work, and I know my shizzle and can help someone through.

Key #3: While soliciting people to learn from, ask lots of questions to begin with to make sure you’re connecting with someone who has a shared vision. Early on in trying to learn more about how to spread word of what I do, I purchased this e-book/consultant package. I was super-excited, spent a bunch of time (we’re talking hours and hours) going over this e-book, prepping my questions. The consultant was billed as hot stuff, we had a half hour, and I wanted to be ready to rock and roll. But when it came down to the consult? They hadn’t looked at my website or concept or anything.  Scheduling the consult itself was a nightmare of unreturned emails and unnecessary complications. And the call itself? A nightmare of rushing, plus a disrespectful tone of voice at one point. I will never purchase something from that person, again, and I’d hesitate strongly before purchasing something from anyone they collaborated with. BUT–at the end of the day, we’re all adults, here. You and me–we’re grownups, now. We gotta ask questions, beforehand. If we need something, we gotta speak up and say what we need. I made assumptions about how the process would work based on my own standards. My standards aren’t everyone else’s.

Key #4: When something new doesn’t feel like a match, give it time rather than speaking in absolutes. There was a point in time when I swore that I hated Twitter. Now I find it kind of fun. I’m trying to notice where, when I think of a new way to share what I do with others, I might hesitate because I’m afraid of either a.) risking/being seen or b.) judgement/coming across as one of those “marketing types.” The fear is a comfort zone issue, not a marketing issue.

Key #5: Stick to your guns when it really hits a nerve. Perhaps the thing I’ve found most appalling when I’ve read about marketing is the encouragement to suck up to people who get a lot of traffic so that they’ll think you want to be friends and then start pimping your stuff. This hits my “manipulation” button in big ways. I’m open to the idea that I might reframe it more positively in the future (see Key #4), and yet at this point, it seems vitally important to me that I’m only connecting with people with whom I genuinely resonate, and that I let those connections be organic. I want to connect with people who have open hearts and a willingness to share their wisdom. Period. And I hope that anyone who reaches out to me has the same desire. Period.

I’ll be updating these Keys each day this week–check back for more.

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Painting in my office.

This weekend, Andy and I went by the DeYoung Museum’s new exhibit of Impressionist paintings that are from one of my favorite museums in the world, the Musee D’Orsay, in Paris. Ohmigosh. So, so, so very beautiful.

I left the museum that afternoon feeling something that I feel every time I leave a museum: With that delicious feeling of, “I wanna do that!”

I call this following your “inner YES!”, that feeling inside that knows it wants something, craves something.

Some of us are people who have a LOT of inner “YES!” feelings, and then the challenge becomes knowing which ones to follow. I am one of those people. There is so much beauty, so many beautiful things that I’m attracted to, that in the past I have frequently found myself thinking I needed to figure out what my calling was, and stick to it.

Right now, one group of Courageous Year participants is being lead through a series of exercises on Passion & Play. Today, I shared with them that I used to think that passion and play were not “the serious stuff,” that what I really needed to focus on was something like getting my life all pulled together and balanced.

It was only after my coach asked me to make a joy list and do at least 2 things on that list, daily, that I realized how much resistance I had to passion and play. I had plenty of experience with anger and sadness, but my childhood and subsequent early adult years had not provided me with a lot of training in how to have a really fun, balls-out joyful experience. Sure, I laughed and made jokes. But did I walk around with an experience of real and true deep inner joy?

No.

And the side of me that was in need of a lot of healing told me that it wasn’t “practical” to expect that I would feel a lot of joy during my day. It wasn’t “realistic” to expect to be joyful within. And besides, weren’t those joy-filled types the ones who got made fun of as cheesy and ridiculous? I wouldn’t want to be one of those people.

Or would I?

There’s this thing that happens when we start tapping into more passion and play in our lives, this really cool thing where we start realizing first that the more unhappy one is, the more it is a choice. And second, that there’s an immense amount of compassion to have for anyone making that choice (not pity–compassion. True acceptance that that’s the choice they make, it’s painful, it isn’t easy, and that they’re making the choice for good reasons, while holding space that at any moment they’ll choose to shift out of that).

Choosing passion and play in my life has turned out to be the most practical of choices, the choice that strings life together in a completely different way. And yup, it is even practical to believe that one can occupy that space a good amount of time (the part that gets people into trouble, usually, is when we expect ourselves to be that all of the time, to never struggle, and then we want to give up at the first sign of setback. I totally get it.) Also, the joy-filled types do get made fun of–and that’s okay. I’m choosing the experience I want to have on this earth, and others are choosing theirs. Why not simply accept that they have as much right to choose theirs as I do, my own? I’m fully behind my choices for my life. They serve me.

I think it’s a Story that there is just this one thing we are meant to do with life, or that there is a “Jack of all trades, master of none” thing going on. I think that it’s totally possible to dive into following your Inner YES! with abandon, and that all sorts of lovely things come out that way. I also think–and this is important!–that all of the bits and pieces of our lives need not be perfectly aligned for joy to come in.

We can start now, and start small. I don’t have an artist’s studio. My “studio” is a 2×3′ table purchased for $20 from IKEA. Many of my supplies are stored in a disorganized and haphazard fashion. I have to pull almost all of them out if I want to create anything. I remember the days when I told myself that I needed “a space” to create. I also no longer believe that one needs lots of “time.” Twenty minutes a day can go a long way towards connecting you with your passion and play.

This is one of those areas where the question must be asked: To what are you more committed, your vision or your resistance?

It’s okay to be in a resistant space. You’ll still be loved. Just keep noticing what you’re more committed to, moment to moment, and be prepared to make a leap when you’re ready for something to shift.

Where would you most like to introduce a lightness, a sense of fun, more passion, and more play into your life?

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New Tattoo #2.

Since we’re getting so honest around here these days, I’ll add something I allude to in my Bio: I used to be depressed.

Not “having a case of the Mondays” or “feeling down.” I was depressed. A lot of this was in high school, a naturally depressing time, and it infiltrated itself into my college experience, which felt sort of like a continuation of high school. This depression manifested itself as extreme isolation, crying, eating disorders, cutting, and a lot of feelings of being borderline suicidal–a lot of “I wish I could just go to sleep and not wake up.” I didn’t want to end my life so much as I wanted the pain to end, though I did not have words for it at that time. I bounced around on a bunch of different anti-depressants before deciding that for me, they just did not work.

I look back now and think that much of my depression centered around feeling powerless. I felt stuck. I was in a lot of places where I didn’t want to be, I had all of this creative energy, I couldn’t seem to find my right people, I felt misunderstood. (I would say that it was “very Holden Caulfield” just to seem all fancy, but truth? Can’t stand The Catcher in the Rye. I’ve tried to read it and lose interest every time.)

It was when I started being where I wanted to be, using my creative energy, putting effort forth to find my right people, and then trusting that I would be understood that something shifted. The process was slow, and I went through big chunks of it without therapeutic guidance. (This last, I do not recommend.)

The power thing is so important. It seems to me that depression is, at its essence, a feeling of being pressed down, unable to get up, unable to effect change in one’s life. In my case, stuff kept happening and I just didn’t know how to react, except for getting angry, which cost me friends and my health. So then I would get depressed because I didn’t have any other tools in my toolbox. I knew I wanted to shift something, wanted that connection, yet didn’t know how to go about getting it.

The sad place is often the seemingly powerless place.

The powerless part is the illusion, though, because within the sadness we do have a choice: choosing compassion.

One of the best books I’ve ever read on the subject is Cheri Huber’s The Depression Book. It’s all about being with what we feel, acknowledging it without shaming ourselves out of feeling it, courageously navigating those waters, learning what it has to tell us.

What would your sadness tell you, if you gave it a voice?

I know that mine all those years would have sad how lonely she felt, how isolated it was to be a Do-er (someone who does lots of stuff). How the thrill of finishing a project did not even remotely compare to the stress and sadness and exhaustion of doing more and more, and how disappointing it was that recognition did not translate into connection.

So, then. Again: What would your sadness tell you, if you gave it a voice?

We’re often afraid to go into our sadness because it can seem like this bottomless hole that we won’t get out of. This is something that I definitely encounter when I’m guiding Courageous Year participants through the Emotions part of the course–how do we bravely step into something that blocks us (not releasing emotions is a block), while simultaneously feeling like there is no way around the block?

It takes getting help, getting support for what you face. Acknowledging that you deserve to live life bigger. Willingness to navigate some scary spaces.

And you know what else? Compassion. Compassion for the sadness (rather than shoulds or guilt). Compassion for yourself if you realize that you’re just not ready to go there, yet. That’s okay. It’s okay to not be ready.

HOW DO I GET STARTED? This is a good question to ask. How does one get started when they’re feeling this down at the bottom of something? Here’s my personal answer, which you can extrapolate to yourself as needed:

Move.

Move one thing.

Move a paperweight or a book, then a pencil and then a piece of paper. There’s something about movement that either brings on the feelings or expels them. I was feeling some sadness come up the other day, a generalized sort of sadness because I was tired and my partner was out of town and I was feeling a little lonely and no one was really around. I noticed this sadness and just started moving things, cleaning the house. It began to lift. It was a good thing.

Here’s another thought: Don’t move.

Sometimes to deal with sadness I literally sit with it. I sit on my zafu and stare at a wall and resolve not to move until something has shifted. Sometimes I’ll bring with me a clarifying question, a question like “What does my sadness want to tell me?” and then maybe the answer will reveal itself and some tender place in my heart will unlock and I’ll bow my body and cry into my knees a bit, but that’s real and when I’m done crying, I blow my nose and have that nice, cleaned-out feeling.

Those are just two options that I choose.

There’s such a huge range to explore with the topic of sadness. One area that is difficult is knowing when it’s “serious” versus when it’s not. I think people tend to err more on the side of “Oh, it’s not serious” and then they don’t get help. And if that’s you, I encourage you to reach out, professionally or otherwise, and start talking to people. Own your sadness. Claim it. Give it a voice. It might transform from there. Simply having permission to be what it is without the admonishment to “Get happy!” is a powerful thing.

What does your sadness tell you?

—————-

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(( This is Part II of a piece I began yesterday on anger. Before continuing here, read the first part )).

I’m continuing with yesterday’s piece by diving in with something more concrete–what helps, and what does not help. This is something I’m basing on my own personal experience in working through/with my own experiences of anger, as well as what has helped people around me.

WHAT DOES NOT HELP (if you are working with someone who is angry): Arguing with a person who experiences a lot of anger (fighting fire with fire, which only fuels more fire). Talking about them behind their back (we always find out, and then that gets funneled into a Story of rejection/worthlessness). Passive-aggressiveness. Stone-walling. Ignoring. Also, comments to the tune of “Why can’t you just go with the flow like everyone else?”

WHAT DOES HELP (if you are working with a person who is angry): Boundaries around respectful communication. And a Love Sandwich ( Love + The feedback that could be seen as criticism + Love). Taking a position that looks something like, “I love you, I’m not leaving, I’m willing to hear you–as long as the communication is respectful.”

WHAT DOES NOT HELP (if you are the person experiencing lots of anger): Living in the angry place, drama, refusal to see your side, blaming the anger on something external, not claiming the anger, shaming oneself over the anger, not getting help, shaming.

WHAT DOES HELP (if you are the person experiencing lots of anger): Processing it out without taking it out on others, noticing your choices, accepting responsibility for your feelings, getting help, refusing to buy into the idea that you are bad.

So here’s what I’d like to end this with. First, this is by no means an exhaustive list of all the ins and outs of anger. I’m talking about a specific kind of anger, and there are other kinds–kinds that are far more violent than I’m talking about here, and I hope that if anyone is dealing with violent anger that they get the hell away. Fast. I’m not suggesting that anyone “show support” by sticking around violence.

Second, I think it’s worth considering that there is a lovely possibility for real change if the anger is met with love. So let’s say that I’m pissed at Andy, for whatever reason. (Maybe he’s clinking those pots, again.) If I bring up my irritation with him in a disrespectful (angry) way, and he responds with stone-walling, ignoring me, or asking me “What’s wrong with you, why can’t you just go with the flow?” my anger quotient is likely to rise. If he responds with something like, “Hey, I’ll talk to you about this when the energy is clean/free of anger,” then I might be angry that he didn’t to talk about it, but I’m not being shut down or told that I’m wrong for experiencing what I’m experiencing.

Third, if you are someone who experiences a lot of anger, this is best managed before the anger even begins. I have a post-it on the light switch in my office. It reads: “When I work my tools, my life WORKS.” This is my reminder that when I take time each day to journal, physically move my body, go into some kind of process work around anger–and we’re just talking 5 minutes here, no drama–then I diffuse a lot of old, angry energy. When I diffuse the excess, I find it easier to read about things like how Congolese soldiers justify rape while the world sits back and does nothing about it, or the governor’s crap about how the State of California doesn’t have any money for CalWORKS or education, while he simultaneously protects people with beachfront property from paying their fair share in property taxes, without then having that frustration stick to me like a burr all day and manifest in irritability, later.

Fourth, if you experience a lot of anger, it is absolutely possible to change. The amount of anger I work with now varies, whereas at one point it was a near-constant. You’re not stuck. I absolutely see myself transforming the anger that comes up for me, letting go, cleaning out an old basement of muck.

Fifth, if you’re someone who doesn’t experience a lot of the stereotypical displays of anger, notice how you might be carrying out your anger in a different way, such as passive-aggressiveness, and then foisting the bulk of the responsibility/blame onto someone who carries out anger in more stereotypical ways (raised voices, for instance). It’s easy to blame the person who raises their voice first, while forgetting that two play a part in areas of conflict.

Okay. I’ve talked long enough. Now I confess that I‘m so very curious to know what your Angry Place looks like. I know that this might be a tender thing to ask about, so this is one of those Courageous places to step into, feeling the fear, diving in anyway, transforming. What kinds of anger do you experience? What’s the shame about it? Any feelings of wishing you could “get it together”? What resonates with you, here?

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New Tattoo #1.

Look, I need to tell you something.

Something important.

Something that can be scary to talk about because perhaps you won’t like me any more.

I don’t think I’ve ever just come balls-out and said it, but for reals: I am seriously still on my journey when it comes to anger. So I’m going to do something that feels more than even just a little bit vulnerable, and that is this: write about something while I am seriously still on a journey with it, knowing that I do not have it all neatly summed up and figured out.

BACKGROUND: Some people do a whole lot of work just to get in touch with their anger and recognize that it’s there. I do not need to do that work. I have never ever needed to do that work, because knowing whether or not anger is present for me is like asking whether the light switch is flipped on in the room. I’m acutely aware of when I’m pissed, and I’m acutely aware of when I’m not.

I’m also acutely aware that right now I feel slightly nauseous at the thought of actually publishing this blog post. For what it’s worth, the type of anger I’m talking about here is not rage, or the kind of anger that is so intense that people black out. I’m talking about the work I do on a daily basis to manage a near-constant stream of internal complaints, judgements, irritability, frustration, etc., that will sometimes spill over into losing my temper. Losing my temper looks something like snapping at someone totally unrelated to the situation (cashiers, the person who just put their yoga mat right in front of me, etc.) or really getting a zinger in–one of those seriously angry comments that knows exactly what button to push–while in the midst of a disagreement with someone. And sometimes, a few times a year, if I have not been managing myself well by working my tools, the right confluence of circumstances (usually hunger, sleepiness, and stress + someone who is willing to argue), the anger comes out as a loud, raised voice and a string of expletives. Also, when I’m alone and I’m that pissed? I enjoy throwing things.

Those times are what I call the Fuck My Life Vision moments.

So yeah, a lot, right? Especially because people don’t talk about this. I’m thinking of one friend I had who used to tell me about arguments with her partner and say “And I got so angry!” in the same voice that one would say, “And it was so exciting!” People recount the times they lost their temper often with humor, defusing the Shame Hangover that I think most of us who are really in touch with our anger feel after an outburst.

So what exactly does this white, middle-class, educated and healthy woman have to be angry about?

Well, we could start with being angry at society’s idea that being white, middle-class, educated and healthy means that there is no cause for concern, that a certain set of factors means that one’s problems are neatly wrapped up and taken care of. We could start with all of the times someone has admonished me to be grateful when I was angry. Or the times that someone told me that I was ungrateful for being upset about something (using an upset tone of voice, themselves–irony, yes?). Or we could even start with the general avoidance of seeing anger for what it really is: a sense of powerlessness, and of pain.

Because those of you who are reading this who know what I’m talking about, know what it feels like to inexplicably feel irritated by things like the way your partner is in the other room clinking the pots and pans while you’re typing a blog entry, trying to concentrate, trying to remind yourself that it’s great that someone is cleaning the kitchen and that that someone is not you, and trying to breathe, but dammit not being able to concentrate because of the clanking, and why does he have to be doing that right now?, and then in come the armies of inner critic voices: What’s wrong with you? Why are you so angry? You’re too tense! What’s wrong with you? This is so little! Why is this bothering you? Why can’t you get it together? I’m no good for anyone. I’m a terrible person.

And really, that is the biggest Story. I am angry = I am a terrible person. Done. Over. Finished.

THE PARADOX: Those of us who are in touch with our anger know what that’s like, because of all the negative emotions to feel, anger is the one that causes people to back away. Someone might put an arm around you and ask what’s wrong when you’re crying, but if you’re angry? Not a chance. And then sometimes those of us who are in touch with the angry notice a paradox, where we are both saying Fuck Off to the world and pushing the world away, while simultaneously saying Fuck You to the world because the world stepped back and left us with this pain, alone. This is how it can seem.

People back off from anyone who carries a lot of anger because they (the people) have been on the receiving end of someone else’s anger, and that doesn’t feel good. More than likely, people were on that receiving end at a point in childhood when one neuron fired and some brain pattern emerged that goes something like Anger Is Dangerous Get Away Now. So instead of compassion for the angry person, people think, “What a bitch.”

UNDERSTANDING: For those of you who don’t understand why anyone would be so angry, let me offer: those of us who experience a lot of anger would really love to get away from it, too. In fact, it’s one of the things we’re angry about: Why can’t we just go with the flow like everyone else? Go figure.

But here’s the thing: Those of us who are acutely in touch with our anger got that training from somewhere. We saw it modeled for us. In fact, I’ll argue that the angrier a person is, the more they bore the brunt of someone else’s anger. Compassion is called for.

Furthermore, one of the things that can be hard in owning anger is the fear of being labeled an Angry Person. Notice that I have been using terms like “being/feeling angry” or “experiencing anger” in this post. It’s important to know that no one is angry all of the time. But because of all of the inner critic stuff, the shame, the rejection from others, those of use who are in touch with a lot of anger are really aware of how easily we could be pegged The Angry Person and then man, it’d really be over. We’re never going to get love again if we’re The Angry Person. So many of us who experience a lot of anger are caught in cycle of noticing that things are pissing us off, trying to breath, white-knuckling our way through life or sometimes getting pissed and then experiencing the Shame Hangover, and then promising ourselves that we’re going to stop and be cool and then the whole things happens again. How would we pick up the pieces if we ever let ourselves get the Angry Person label?

———————————-

Tomorrow: Part II: What to do if you’re the one experiencing the anger and what to do if you’re involved with someone who experiences a lot of anger–helpful ideas for people on both sides of this issue.

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Just being yourself is a precious thing.

And in case you didn’t know? Stripy socks are good luck.

You matter.

You are courageous, even when you don’t know it.

All of your mixed-up parts, the parts that are seemingly contradictory, come together to form something beautiful (even when you aren’t aware that that is what is happening).

Your beauty shines through.

And when you least expect it, trust me–you give gifts to others, simply by being yourself.

Before you got anywhere near your computer this morning, you probably executed a series of routines that you use every single morning as you’re going through the process of waking up. Everything from how you turn off your alarm clock and how much time you give yourself to wake up before moving out of bed was probably couched in some semblance of a routine. Maybe even firing up your computer at a certain time, and hitting certain blogs in a certain order, is part of that routine. And why not? Routines are what make the world go round, or so we’re taught from an early age.

The idea that everyone needs routines and that they are critical to success is one of those things that is pimped as a Whole Truth when in fact, it is only a half-truth. It’s a kind-of, somewhat-useful, good to hold onto in a pinch kind of truth. It’s a modify as necessary  truth.

But many of us treat it like it’s the holy grail of truths, and when we set our minds to doing something and then that something doesn’t happen, we blame it on lack of routine.

I think there’s a different way of looking at routine that could be embraced.

First, I think that blaming routine when some new lifestyle change isn’t a “go” is a way of circumventing our inner wisdom. We don’t ditch exercise routines because of lack of routine. We ditch it because somewhere, deep inside, we just don’t want to do it yet. It’s really that simple, and I think there’s a lot of lovely juice that we could look at there, if we risked being tender with ourselves and owning that. What if, the next time you bailed on something, you took a powerful step towards owning your process, not being ready to make a change, forgiving yourself for any shaming and shoulding, and then looked at the wiser pearl of: “Why am I not yet ready to make this change? What Stories do I have around who I’d ‘have to’ be if I did this? What’s my fear?”

So in essence, blaming the routine can be the booby prize that maintains an illusion that will only re-execute itself, next time.

The other thing about routines is that they’re only really useful if they’re used at the right time. For instance, I find routines really helpful when I have Resistance to something. Let’s say I tell myself I’m going to be more regular about my writing practice. The Resistance comes up, but it’s not so strong that I’ll quit (if it was, I’d refer back to looking at the “Why am I not yet ready to make this change?” question). The routine is what will get me going each day, and start to make it a habit that I will simply do because it’s routine.

But–and this varies by individual–for me, a long-term routine around writing is a recipe for disaster. How many times have I told myself I’d have a “regular writing practice” and then got into it for a few months and then quit? More times than I can count. It took me years to figure out that the routine itself was killing the creative endeavour. The routine itself was this thing that helped me get out of the starting gate, but it had lived past its expiration date. Routines that live past their expiration date are just as icky to have around as expired milk.

So the next question becomes: When do routines serve you, and when do they not?

I’m not going to lay out the “Follow these three simple steps” deal. People’s reactions and experiences with routines are highly individual. There are some of you reading this who will think that this way of looking at routines differently is like their first taste of freedom from a lifetime of being told they were doing it “wrong.”  And– There are some people who love routines, who use them as a wonderfully grounding practice that help to live more fulfilled lives.

An excess of routines does not function in a fulfilling way in my life, and so I think that there’s a lovely middle ground that myself and many others can take where routines are like this tool that has a sticker on it that says:

ONLY USE WHEN NECESSARY.

This brings up a whole host of really lovely questions. When do routines serve you? When are they helpful, and when are they not? Have you ever considered before that there could be times when routine is not serving you, and you’re still holding onto it?

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I thought I’d at least give it a try for the camera–bow pulling pose, my favorite of the series. Which is funny, because when I look at this picture, I can see all of the things that I need to adjust in the posture. My body needs to come down more, parallel to the floor. My raised toe needs to be pointed. But of course, this is one of those deceptive postures that looks much easier than it actually, physically is to execute. Try it, sometime–and be sure to lock that standing knee. Oh, and ignore my sweaty Bikram shorts and towel that are conveniently dumped in the hallway in this photo.

I have executed that posture at least 60 times in the last 30 days. Twice per class.

When I started the 30-day Bikram yoga challenge that was going on at my studio, I did so as a challenge to myself. Going to class 3-5 times a week had produced noticeable, measurable results in my body, and I read Bikram’s book and he advocates a 30 or 60 day initial sequence. So, okay, I thought. If the person who invented this sequence of yoga says do it daily for awhile, I’ll do it.

At my studio, they’re offering a free t-shirt if you complete the Challenge, but let’s just be frank–a t-shirt just isn’t enough motivation to go into a 105-degree room every single day. When I first began Bikram a few months ago, just getting through the class itself was the challenge. The next challenge was going regularly–confronting my resistance that didn’t wannnnna do it, didn’t feeeeel like it. I’ve never had this regular of a yoga practice. I have always been a wannabe yogini, and have taken various and sundry classes since my freshman year of college. One of the things I was most excited to do once I began working for myself was to start practicing regularly; it’s something I’ve said I wanted for years and have felt really challenged by as my schedule shifted and changed every few months depending on the classes I was contracted to teach.

Bikram was an accident. I searched high and low and could not find any yoga studio near me that had affordable classes on a regular schedule, one that was the same every day. This regular schedule thing was important to me, because I know that when I am starting something new, I need to have a rhythm to it or else I get discouraged easily. My mornings quickly became: Pop into yoga, shower, eat breakfast, scoop the kitty litter box, check email, work. Very easy, a nice routine, a lovely way to start off a day that would entail a lot of sitting.

The Challenge has been hard for all the reasons that you already know it would be hard. It’s physically hard. It’s emotionally hard. And I have this pissy thing about people setting up their mats right in front of me, which happens a lot.  The hardest days were 15-20. I had thought that once I hit the halfway mark, I’d just sort of soar easily from there, but no–the Resistance stepped it up a notch and I so thoroughly resented going that I didn’t even enjoy class with my favorite teachers. Get me in, get me out, I said. I gave myself a lot of treats on those days–indulging in getting a Zico (sooo tasty!) even if it conflicted with my other newfound practice of not using packaging on products. Skipping postures I hate was another treat I gave myself. I believe in building in treats.

Also, at the eleventh hour–Day 28!–our hero encountered that One Last Obstacle. I rocked out in Sunday’s class in bow pulling pose. I mean, I ROCKED OUT. My body was down. I was parallel. Stomach sucked in. Stretching and kicking equal and opposite. That wonderful floating feeling. And most importantly: KNEE LOCKED (which is to say, leg straight, no bend, thigh contracted). This was the longest I’d ever stayed in the posture!

Suddenly, I felt it: I was falling out. No. No! Noooo! But I held in! I stayed in! My standing knee stopped locking, but I was holding myself up! It was beautiful! It was fantastic! The teacher ended the pose! My leg went down! I ROCKED IT! SHE SHOOTS, SHE SCORES! No, wait! This is bow-pulling pose–SHE SHOOTS, SHE SOARS!!!!!

And a few hours after class: Shit. They really do mean it when they say to lock that knee and contract that thigh. My IT band and knee really started to hurt, probably from those last few delicious yet ridiculous moments when I pushed it past the point of no return without stabilizing my leg.

I iced and alternated heat and stayed off of my leg for the entire rest of that day, but by bedtime that night it was obvious that I had really strained my right thigh. Dammit.

If I hadn’t been in the midst of a challenge, I would have given up right there. I would have simply taken a few days off and let my leg have some time. But, no. I was not going to quit at Day 28.

So on Day 29, I headed back into the studio. I let the teacher know what was going on. I didn’t do any pose that involved contracting my right thigh muscle. I determined that dammit, if the only pose I could do was savasana, I was going to finish this Challenge.

Turns out, some of the stretching I did on Day 29 totally helped, such that I left that day with my thigh feeling better. And I walked into today’s class, Day 30, with only minimal soreness and was able to complete most postures.

And now, what I notice from 30 days straight of Bikram yoga. First, I’m proud. I did it! This is huge, to me! Shifts have happened around control. I can tolerate people putting their mats in front of me far better than I did, as well as the more tangible things such as sweat running into my eyes. I feel now like I could start something new–something that might take time over the long haul–and trust that I wouldn’t give up, even when it felt difficult. My arms. look. awesome. As does my butt. My thighs. All of it. I feel genuine pride in how much my body has responded to the practice. As I said in a previous entry, I feel great about my body not in an “I’m so thin” way, because I wouldn’t actually call myself thin, but more from a “rocking out in my own strong skin” kind of way. Physically, I feel different. A few weeks ago, I went to a class where I had a splitting headache, and the headache dissipated by the end of class. My posture is more upright. I notice my abdomen flexing if I bend over to pick something up. I can’t remember the last time I had lower back pain. I have more energy. I’m still breaking out more than I would like, but even that has eased at least a little bit. I’m sleeping more deeply and waking up more naturally, 20-30 minutes before my alarm clock goes off.

So there it is. Thirty days of stepping into something that seemed monumentally difficult when I began, and at various points, but I saw it all the way through. This thrills me and excites me and makes me want to do a little happy dance.

To complete the process, I’ll be doing a few things. One: a haircut and dye job are desperately in order, as is a little shaping of the eyebrows. Two: Tattoo time. I wanted to complete this challenge before getting my next tat, because I knew that I would need to give my skin ample time to heal up without any sweat. But I’ve been thinking about these (yes, two, plural) for awhile, and had planned to get them done months ago but then when I decided to do this Challenge, I thought “Hey, why not make them coincide?” It would be kind of cool to remember, for the rest of my life, meeting this Challenge, even though the tattoos will be symbolizing other things, as well.

So now I’m curious: What in your life seems, right now, like an insurmountable challenge? And what might be awaiting you on the other side?

Have you seen the movie, Vicky Cristina Barcelona? God, I love that movie (it is not nearly as dramatic as that trailer makes it out to be). It’s the only Woody Allen movie I like, in fact. The cinematography inspired Andy and I with this hare-brained idea of traveling around Europe for a year, spending a few months in different places. This hare-brained idea is one of those things that we’ve put on a back-burner, for now. For one thing, I now have a small child to take care of. Two of them, in fact. For another, we signed a year lease and spent a small fortune upgrading from broken down IKEA castoffs to Crate & Barrel. My office is yellow. We are finally living somewhere with no shared walls, no kiddos below us watching MTV at top-volume.

But back to that movie. If you haven’t seen it, there are no spoilers in me saying that the two main characters are Vicky and Cristina. One is sensible and pragmatic. The other is bohemian and whimsical. One is a monogamist and the other is ready for a fling with hunky Javier Bardem (and who wouldn’t be? I mean, as long as he’s not wearing that god-awful wig toupee thing from No Country For Old Men…).

Basically, if you put the two halves together, you get–scary thought–MY BRAIN. I am some parts sensible and pragmatic, happy to snuggle in and ground myself each night in the lumbar-supported comfort of  a pillow-topped Simmons Beautyrest mattress (which is a great mattress, by the way). I want spice racks. A good set of kitchen knives. I want to bake bread and try recipes. The most exciting part of any move I’ve ever made is unpacking the boxes of books. Once they are lining the shelves, I truly feel at home. I want houseplants that need watering and a favorite local coffeeshop and regular dates with friends. I want stability. I want regular paychecks. I want a wardrobe full of options.

A whole other side of me wants nothing of that life. A whole other side of me–the wanderlust side, the travel bug side–wants to spend the day walking and then crash on anything horizontal, sleeping deeply from a day well-lived. That side doesn’t want spice racks or kitchen knives or heavy boxes of books or furniture or anything that would tie her down–especially not a lease agreement or houseplants or cats that need feeding. That side of me wants to try a new restaurant each night. That side of me adores my friends but also loves the thrill of sitting on a random park bench in a totally new city and meeting a totally new person who will end up joining me as I meet up with a group of CouchSurfers who have decided to have a meetup in which every single CouchSurfer brings someone they are currently hosting, resulting in a panoply of languages all talking over one another, pantomiming to fill in the gaps (this is, in fact, what happened when I stayed in Milan in 2008). This other side of me has no need for stability, craves something new, is willing to forego regular paychecks in favor of running her own ship, and is happy to pack a suitcase with one black skirt, one black pair of pants, one pair of jeans, and three different tops, all of which can be worn in interchangeable combinations and hand-washed in the sink of a hotel.

It has taken years for me to realize that these two sides are actually quite real, and completely legitimate in and of themselves. They are my yin and yang, my water and my fire. If the Universe asked me, “How would you like to structure your life, Kate?” my answer would be: Be financially abundant enough to have a home-base in the city of my choosing. This would be a place where I’d live with Andy for 8 months of the year. Then 4 months of the year we’d travel. We’d find a house-sitter to chill at our place and watch Poppy and get the same advantages of free rent living that we were gifted with while we were house-sitting. Maybe those 4 months would be divided up into several smaller trips. Or maybe not. We’d either telecomm while traveling or just schedule our lives and save money in such a way that we needn’t work those months.

And yes, this is not just some distant dream. This is something that Andy and I are, in various and sundry ways, paving the way towards having, though all of the pavement has not exactly arrived in shipment just yet. I’m not sure how we’ll make it happen; only that we want to and that sometimes bits and pieces make themselves clearer as to how that might happen.

I share this today because I know that for many years, I felt guilty about these two seemingly disparate sides of myself. I felt like I needed to “be practical” and “get it together.” I didn’t understand what was “wrong with” me, that I kept weaving back and forth between craving fresh green smoothies and salads (it feels so good to be healthy, doesn’t it?) and then good red wine and bread with olive oil (to hell with healthy eating! c’est la vie! buon appetito!). It is a strange thing to be both enamoured with neatly folded laundry washed each Sunday and restocking my drawers, and to simultaneously not care if  that night, I re-wash my socks in a sink and then hang them on a towel rack to dry because it’s not worth it to go to the laundromat until I have a full load of laundry. I want the bookshelves full of books and the comfortable chairs to sink into and my kitty snuggling on my lap while I read; I want as few possessions as possible and am proud of having mastered the art of packing light.

For several years, it seemed wrong somehow that I would be this person, composed of these two pieces. I filtered it through my Zen Buddhist training as: Kate doesn’t want to be in the moment. When she’s here, she wants to be there, and when she’s there, she wants to be here. When will she want to be in this moment, now?

But now I realize that there is a deeper–and more useful–Zen Buddhist training in all of this, and it is being in the now with what is. Being fully aware of both the aspects of me that sincerely desire movement as well as those that desire stillness, and accepting them whole-heartedly. Embracing the two. There is absolutely a part of me that craves stability as much as it enjoys a little disorder. Instead of ping-ponging back and forth between Hell no! Stability is soooo rigid! and I need to get life under control, pull in some order, eat my veggies, meditate regularly, there is this lovely passionate middle ground that I am working on riding. Rather than toe the line that the order/veggies/meditation are really where I’m “supposed to” be, and that the desire to cut loose is all distraction, I like the broader, more all-encompassing idea of putting the two halves together to make a whole.

It is a middle ground that notices, in fact, when I most like stability and when I most like to cut loose. Do you notice this about yourself? For instance, I love stability in the morning. I want order and quiet and routines. But around 5:00 in the evening? I want out of the house. I want to see something new–a new book, a new art exhibit, a new person, a new bit of scenery. Flip it around and give me the “new” stuff in the morning, and I experience this as jarring. Ick! Too much! Ask me to settle down in the evening when I’m craving going out, and I am antsy as all get out.

In finding the middle ground, there’s this opportunity to both BE Kate and LOVE Kate just a little bit bigger. It’s freeing, and sort of a relief. Whew! Instead of trying to “figure out” how I would be cultivate stability without resenting the commitment, or cultivate adventure without missing the groundedness of home, I just get to be me: the girl who is beautifully splintered in these different ways.

How about you? Where would you like to give yourself permission to just BE who you actually are, even if the parts are seemingly contradictory?

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Me, in the midst of a post-natal photoshoot. Photo by Andy.

So before you worry–that’s my own couch I’m standing on. No, I do not do photoshoots where I go to people’s houses and step all over their furniture. I promise.

It’s kind of amazing to me that we all start out in this one, same place: the Belly.

(oooh, lens flare goodness!!!)

How is it possible that we all get our start in there? I mean, it’s trippy if you think about it. We all start in there, and then somehow we’re out of there and in the world and this whole new person exists that did not exist, officially, in the world just one day before.

I was really excited to meet Owen for the first time, to marvel at this new person who is welcomed into the world. And how TINY! Holy spark plugs–will you look at this? His mother’s hand–a normal, everyday, human hand–is as big as his head. Even though he cried a few times (I mean, who wouldn’t? We kept changing his clothes while he was trying to nap, and that’s got to be annoying), but when he wasn’t crying he was looking at the world wide-eyed, or making delicious little grunty noises, and his toesies were just scrumptious.

Life is just so very, very fun.

What are you in the process of birthing in your life? What in your life has just recently been born and is finding its way around this new world?

What’s Your Wisdom? from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

(!!!!)

I just really loved the way this project turned out. I see it as seven minutes of sitting back and getting centered, remembering and re-remembering that we are so much more alike than we tend to believe. Getting connected with love. With a big world. With what we know. Such beautiful images and words…

Enjoy!