Poetry Thursday: All the room in the world

bloggy_letting-go-capture-queen_55917472_ed7a8f51b2_o.jpg If it helps

we're only renting

The car you drive

The house you bought

Those shoes

That ring

This muffin

It all passes through

like it was never yours

to begin with

(Especially the muffin)

I'm the caretaker

for now

of this hat

that fridge

these cells

and once my term is up

they will move on

to the next caretaker

in some shape

or another entirely

Be the container

that is clean and good

to hold these things

for the time they are yours:

these babies

those thoughts

this poem

And be prepared

to let go

at a moment's notice

(or not)

when the moment comes

And if you feel sad

or heavy

or small

let go

let go

let go

All the stuff in the world

is not half as wonderful

as the room left behind

once it's gone.

xxx

c

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

What's up and what's gone down (July 2009)

arnoinrepose

For a while now, I've been admiring the way other bloggers cope with the schizophrenic mess that is their digital wake, especially on those days when I'm really swirling around in mine.

Chris Guillebeau, who has rightly taken off like a rocket ship in the past few months, does a monthly look back at his output to catch up those who might have missed stuff; Merlin Mann flirted briefly with the Monthly Pimp (spicy lad!) before deciding to strip down and focus his considerable brainpower on...well, some as-yet-unnamed mystery project that hopefully will be for sale or view in the future. Because I love pretty much everything that boy has produced so far, especially this. (Note: that last was a co-production.)

Rather than turn this into a dig-me parade, I will take my cue from Chris and Merlin and offer this up in the way of curation. I make and do a lot of stuff, more than anyone in her right mind would want to keep up with. So I'll comb through it upon occasion and serve it up here: a neat, edited compendium of what's up, what's coming up, and what's gone down in the previous month. Or month-ish.

You know me, right?

Colleen of the future (places I'll be)

  • The Monthly Los Angeles Biznik Meet-Up at Jerry's (Tonight, Wednesday, July 16, 5:30 - 8pm) Every four weeks, some of L.A.'s finest independent biz folk gather for cocktails, conversation and oversized plates of deli food. It's awesome, and it's free. (Well, not the drinks or the deli food.) Just register (free!) to become a member of Biznik, then sign up (also free!). Easy-peasy, Cousin Weezy!
  • The Escape from Cubicle Nation Workshop in Chicago (Friday, July 17) My friend, Pamela Slim, is one of the smartest, funniest, most generous people I've met in recent years. I totally joked about horning in on her all-day extravaganza of awesomeness, and she totally called my bluff. So somewhere during her day of brilliant advice, exercises and encouragement for anyone on either side of the cusp of entrepreneurship, I'll be doing a little song and dance on branding. Expect much merriment.
  • The Creative Freelancer Conference in San Diego (August 26 - 28) A fantastic, action/info/inspiration-packed 3 days with 200 of your peers. And just 200. Incredible. Read what I have to say about it here, then sign up immediately. $50 advance registration discount ends today!

Colleen of the Past (stuff that went down)

  • New interview! Here's why you expand your horizons and meet new people: one of them might be the incredible Valeria Maltoni, author of my new-favorite blog on marketing, Conversation Agent. After I left a note in her "About You" page (how's that for a great feature?), she asked if I'd consent to being interviewed. Would I!? Would I!? Yup, I would. Thanks, Valeria!
  • New interview! Speaking of interviewing, Tracy Pattin is one lady who knows her way around a microphone. A longtime voice-over talent, Tracy interviewed me in my capacity as former Shill for the Man for her popular Voice Registry Podcast.
  • New blog features! Regular readers will have noted that of late, Thursday has been devoted to poetry, and Friday to recommending cool, non-corporomegalopolic stuff. There's also a landing page of stuff I recommend and an Amazon aStore where you can buy stuff you were gonna buy anyway that makes me a little money so I can buy more stuff to read and review (book reviews are mostly happening on Tuesday now), and on my newsletter.

Colleen of the Present (ongoing projects)

  • The Virgo Guide to Marketing I'm just over halfway through a year-long project where I work on my marketing daily and blog about it weekly. People seem to dig it, as well as the podcasts I record weekly. Go figger.
  • communicatrix | focuses My monthly newsletter devoted to the all-important subject of increasing your unique fabulosity. One article per month (with actionable tips! and minimal bullsh*t!) about becoming a better communicator, plus the best few of the many cool things I stumble across in my travels. Plus a tiny drawing by moi. Free! (archives & sign-up)
  • Act Smart! is my monthly column about marketing for actors for LA Casting, but I swear, you'll find stuff in it that's useful, too. Browse the poorly-updated archives, here.
  • Internet flotsam And of course, I snark it up on Twitter, chit-chat on Facebook, post the odd video or quote to Tumblr, and bookmark the good stuff I find on my travels at StumbleUpon and delicious.

Please let me know if you find this kind of curation at all useful, and/or if there's a better way to handle it. Thanks!

xxx
c

Photo of Arno J. McScruff housed on Flickr, where I also occasionally stick pixels.

Book review: Work the System

cogs and gears of a gigantic machine

I suppose there are small business owners and solopreneurs and plain old freelancers out there who never find themselves with too little time or too much stress, but I've met a lot more of the other kind.

Most of us seem to spend most of our time running from fire to fire, an all-too-recognizable analogy, along with Whac-A-Mole, that perennial favorite of arcade-dwelling masochists everywhere, that author and business owner Sam Carpenter evokes many, many times in the revised 2nd edition of his 2008 book Work the System: The Simple Mechanics of Making More and Working Less.

If we're lucky, we come to a moment of awakening, then follow it up with the kind of right work and right action that will get us out of the hole we're in; if we're not, we just work until we or our businesses drop dead. Carpenter was about as close to the breaking point both personally and financially with his telecommunications outsourcing business when he had, as he calls it, a kind of out of body experience: he rose up and was suddenly able to see his business differently; it was not a mass of fires but a working organism, a gigantic but self-contained mega-system made up of many smaller, self-contained mini-systems that all worked (or didn't) together. The picture worked for this engineer-minded businessman, and in that moment, he both vowed to right the system to its natural state of balance, and began the process of systematically (haha) doing so.

I've yet to describe my own epiphany in detail (saving it for my book!), nor have I fully internalized the idea that everything is a system that can be broken down into components, but I completely get how everything in Carpenter's world suddenly made a whole lot of sense, because he could actually see things differently.

And even without fully internalizing the Work the System concept, I can see instantly how I already have implemented orderly processes in many of my own life's systems, which gives me hope that I might be able to wrassle the bear that is my business to the ground with sound principles applied methodically. I point to my homemade, SCD-compliant yogurt as Exhibit A: if you'd told me 10 years ago that not only would I make my own yogurt, but that I would do it with the nonchalance and regularity of brushing and flossing my teeth, I'd have laughed...after I put down my leaded Coke and Chee-tos. And the more I scan for them, the more I can, as Carpenter suggests, start seeing them everywhere: my Photoshop workflow for creating presentation templates; my years making silver jewelry in metalsmithing; even the way I can come up with a cheese omelet and hot espresso in the morning on autopilot.

The Chief Atheist used to like saying (and, I imagine, still does), "Life is a series of techniques." This is the kernel of Carpenter's thesis, to which I might add, "...nestled together like a series of Russian dolls or CSS boxes." He says it rather overly, perhaps, section the first, which is all about the underlying theory, nudges hard up against being overly repetitive, something Carpenter cops to: it's too important not to flog at length.

On the other hand, parts 2 and 3 fly by, full as they are of actual examples from Carpenter's life and business: of the systems implemented, of the kinds of documentation he developed for them, of the crazy lessons he learned along the way. And he's funny! And earnest, and real, with diverse interests! The commie-pinko-liberal-hippie in me completely grooved on all the references to '60s and '70s musicians (anyone who brings up Zappa in a business book is my kinda guy), while the nerd in me nodded along to his invocations of Stephen Covey and his 7 habits, or Gerber and his E-Myth.

Obviously, I haven't "worked the system" for my business yet. The process begins, as I mentioned above, with a thorough internalizing of the concepts, followed by a crap-ton of paperwork (he walks you through that part, as well as sharing the documents that he developed for his company).

That's okay. First, I don't mind paperwork, and second, I understand first-hand that once you spend a little time up front thinking through and plotting out and implementing a system, the time saved on the other end is tremendous. Just ask someone who's lost cognitive faculties and is having to re-learn how to do everything with new neural pathways. Or hell, make yourself a PB&J with your feet: you'll see right quick.

Me? I'm already sold, and starting work on communicatrix 3.0: the well-oiled, smooth-running, mole-free version...

xxx
c

Through this evening (Tuesday, July 14, at 6pm PDT), you can get a free PDF version of Work the System by visiting the website and entering your email address. Click here now, dammit!

wts_3d_book_v5_225x314

Image (top) by Elsie esq. via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Before you fall-down-go-boom, make room

crashedout_dearoot

A lot of good stuff has been happening lately.

Stuff that's coming out of my involvement with a weekly accountability group, and a few interesting classes, and a lot of work. Oh, yes, a LOT of work.

For those of us with two settings ("full bore" and "off"), even with the best of intentions and calendaring and firewalling time off, a lot of work can creep up on you. Mostly, like the boiling frog, you don't even realize how close you are to a fine fricassee until someone or something flips the lever into the "off" position. And if you're going fast when it happens (which, given the two speeds, is pretty much a given), momentum is suddenly and very much not your friend.

This weekend, the lever was flipped in the car, which is very much where I do NOT like things to happen suddenly. And yet, there we were, The BF and me, both tired, me cranky (how does he never get cranky?), circling for parking. I was already irritated that we were circling for parking because it was hot (not my fault) and I was tired (totally my fault) and I don't especially like driving, so any extra of it I have to do when I'm already tired and hot makes me even crankier.

Still, I'm not a complete dumbass; I know that when it's like that, I need to move slowly. So I swallowed the irritation and chugged along, finally espying a spot near our destination. A spot not quite big enough to pull into, so I slowed down even further, put my right turn signal on, and moved ahead of the spot, as we were taught to do in Driver's Ed lo, so many years ago, and which they have apparently stopped teaching, along with PAYING ATTENTION, because the car behind me, instead of slowing down and/or moving to the passing lane, pulled up hard on my ass. Which meant that I had to wait it out or give it up, and guess what Miss Crankypants was not going to do?

I could go on and tell you about the near pile-up because of even more people who hadn't taken Driver's Ed, or the honking, or the yelling at me to move, but the salient issue (beyond my being overly tired, with no room left in which to act like a compassionate human being, just enough to scream "MINE! MINE!") is that when The BF made a gentle suggestion that, right or wrong, we abandon this course of inaction, I screamed, screamed, like a crazed, frothy-mouthed caricature of Anger Management personified, "Do you wanna drive?!"

To which, after a pause, he replied, "Yes. Yes, I do, actually."

To my credit, just about the only credit I'm going to give myself as far as grace points in this particular situation, I didn't fire back: I paused, took it in, and pulled over to let him drive. Because even in my crazed, frothy-mouthed condition, I could tell (thank JEEBUS and my 20 million years of talk therapy) that I was toast.

It is painful to recall the mix of anger and shame I felt in that moment, and for the rest of the day, but both were mightily and handily eclipsed by the feeling of terror. Because I finally had a crystal-clear, if very ugly picture of the way things might go if I didn't change course right now and forevermore. This was an epiphany of a much different and more dreadful sort than the blissful, Elizabeth Gilbert-esque, dancing angels and white light one I had in my hospital bed many years ago, but it was no less of a peek behind the curtain and to this one, I gratefully say, "No, thank you."

No, thank you, I do not want to hurt the people closest to me. Or anyone, if I can help it. Kind of runs counter to the mission statement around these parts.

No, thank you, I do not want to hurt myself. Better that I do that, I think, if it's a choice, but when I go down, it's a burden on even more people. I've seen it; I know. So no. No, thank you.

I'm still a little shaky from the whole affair, which I think is good. I think that's the point, if there's one to be drawn from this. This way is not sustainable. So. There will probably be some more changes to the changes I was already planning to make.

Also? I will fuck up. Oh, I will most surely fuck up. It's a given. So I'm asking for help and grace both to make the changes I need to and to see me through the almost inevitable fuckups. I'm not asking you, in particular; you've got your own row to hoe, farmer.

But I will toss out there, ever so gently, that if you are at all like me, if you see any of yourself in this, please slow down. Please make some room. Wiggle your toes to remind yourself you have a real, physical body that can get hurt and can, even inadvertently, hurt others. Take a breath to maybe stop yourself from getting to the place where you might.

Sit. Close your eyes. Hug the dog. Go look at a sneezing baby panda or a laughing baby. Eff the coffee or the booze or the impulse to work even harder or whatever your check-out drug of choice is.

I will. I am, right now.

No foolin'...

xxx
c

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

Referral Friday: The Creative Freelancer Conference

ilise benun, bryn mooth and peleg top at the 2008 creative freelancer conference

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

You can learn a lot of great stuff and meet a lot of great people on the web, for (almost) absolutely nothing but an investment of your time.

But as I learned once I decided to move from being a contract employee with an agent (you did know that's what commercial actors are, right?) to captain of my own graphic design ship, at some point, you need to plow a few bucks into you and your business, and get out and meet some people, even in crappy economic times.

Hell, maybe especially in crappy economic times. Not to be an alarmist, but if you haven't redoubled your efforts to make yourself the sharpest, smartest, best-equipped purveyor of whatever it is you do on your block, you're in danger of falling behind. Because everyone is dealing with the same crappy economic times and attendant fears and/or trepidations about spending money; it's just the way it is.

No, what you need to do in yuck times is just make sure you're picking the things with high value for you. And for my money (okay, pun intended), the Creative Freelancer Conference, hosted by HOW (see above for one of them, the awesome Bryn Mooth) and my pals Ilise & Peleg at Marketing Mentor (see above, flanking her) is, like Danielle LaPorte's FireStarter sessions or South by Southwest Interactive, one of those high-value items. Why? I'll tell you:

1. The Creative Freelancer Conference is great because it focuses on YOUR market.

As far as I know, it really is the only game going. Ilise and Peleg approached HOW about doing this conference because they saw an unfilled niche. To paraphrase Velvette De Laney, an attendee from 2008, the HOW conference rocks for creative inspiration, but the CFC is the place to be for practical, on-the-ground information about how rock your creative solopreneur business. I think this pretty much nails my take on it, which is that the speakers and sessions all focus on actionable info, not just theory.

2. The Creative Freelancer Conference is great because it's small.

SxSWi is great because it's big, you get critical mass of awesomeness because so many people are drawn to the great Austin magnet. But as I mentioned on a recent podcast, SxSWi is where you finally meet the people you've been interacting with virtually; the CFC is where you go to meet your tribe.

Also, because it's so small, there's a lot more individualized attention, and other opportunities to connect with people, both speakers and attendees, in real time. The people I met via the CFC I've stayed close with all year. You cannot place a value on that. Okay, maybe you can. See...

3. The Creative Freelancer Conference is great because it's affordable.

The full price for attending is $495. YIKES. That's a lot! Well, yeah, but when you start breaking it down, not really. I've paid $250 and $300 recently for two (really good!) classes that are online only, with stuff I really needed to learn; I got great info, but no tribe, and not a lot in the way of electricity. It's just way harder to get motivated passively; sorry, that's how it is.

Anyway. There are savings, if you act fast! Register by the early bird deadline of July 15 and you can save $50; sign up to become a member of Freelancers Union, and you can up that by $25 to $75, using the code FRUN9 when registering.

Come to think of it, you should join Freelancers Union regardless, if you haven't already: it's FREE, baby, and there's strength in numbers. Also, discounts!

Bottom line?

I get that it's hard to spend money right now; I do. But if you're out there on your own doing creative work for money, you will not find a better place to spend it, or three days this summer, than on the Creative Freelancer Conference, in San Diego, August 26-27-28.

And if we haven't yet, we'll get to meet in person. HOW GREAT IS THAT?

xxx
c

Linky McLinkersons:

Photo credits:

(L-R) Ilise Benun, Bryn Mooth, and Peleg Top
© Dyana Valentine, via Flickr.

Poetry Thursday: What you love, in what you hate

salmonsushi_adactio

My best friend in college
locked horns with me
the day we met

I grew up eating Dover sole
they told me
was tuna fish
in a different shape
because I loved tuna fish
and hated that stuff on my plate.

Or thought I did.

I hated many things
I didn't know I loved
before I learned to love them:
dogs and Los Angeles,
acting and marketing,
books without pictures,
cheese with irregularities

Even poetry.

Sometimes
it's a matter of ramping up
with trickery
or adulteration,
like cream in your coffee
or jazz in MGM musicals.

Other times
you have to walk through what you hate
to find the thing you love.

The stuff that comes easy
is like popcorn:
neither here nor there

The stuff that is challenging
is like sushi:
weird and chewy,
foreign and opaque,
off-putting
scary
indifferent
or, in the case of wasabi,
openly hostile.

Nothing wrong with popcorn
but the lesson
and the love
and the growth
and the magic
and the poetry
is in the sushi.

xxx
c

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


Why I wasn't Colleen Wainwright (and why I am now)

colleenann

As with money, we have a long and complicated relationship with names in my family.

Many people are shocked, shocked, I tell you!, to find out I'm half-Jewish; apparently, even though, as a former agent said, I have a face like a map of old Russia, I'm not immediately physically recognizable as a Jew (whatever that means).

Neither was my father. The son of two full-fledged (albeit non-practicing) Members of the Tribe, he somehow looked like them in only the most Gentile of ways. He could, and did, pass, in his Brooks Brothers suits and horn-rimmed ad-guy glasses. He even looked goyishe standing next to my mother, a beauty of Irish-Swedish descent who had shiksa written all over her retroussé nose. Who knows? Maybe it was a gentile-by-association thing.

And in mid-century America, in the circles Charles Anthony Weinrott wanted to travel in, if it wasn't better to be non-Jewish, it was definitely better to be non-different. So he Anglicized the name, converted to Catholicism, et voila! All traces of the Jew in him, save a lingering penchant for chopped liver, were eliminated. (And hey, who doesn't like a nice pâté?)

But that's not where the name issue stopped, or rather, where it started. Oh, no. Way, way back when he was a wee lad with very little means of power or authority, Dad found a way to wiggle a bit from under the loving but dominating shadow of his father, my beloved Gramps. Quite forcefully (or so the family lore would have it) and pretty much out of the blue one day, young Master Weinrott announced that he would no longer answer to "Charlie," and must henceforth be addressed as "Tony." 20-some-odd years later, he scrubbed the first name down to an initial, and was known formally as "C. Anthony Wainwright," thereby eradicating 90% of the name he was born with. Take that, old man.

On the other hand, my mother had an entirely different experience with names. She was born "Ann Sexton," most decidedly not named after the poetess. Like the rest of the female children in her family, she was not burdened with a middle name, as such a thing would be rendered superfluous upon marrying, which she would most certainly do (unless she became a nun, in which case, well, you know.) No one could have foreseen just how much Mom would take to marrying; by the time of her death, she was either "Ann Sexton Wainwright Noel" or "Ann Wainwright Noel" or "Ann Sexton Noel" or even, because hands will cramp up, plain, old "Ann Noel," depending on what piece of paper you were looking at or whom you were talking to.

I am sure that Mom and Dad, like most parents, meant well when they named me, although I think Mom's claim about why each of her three girls were gifted with "Ann" for a middle name, "Because it goes with everything!", is a bit disingenuous, given her personal circumstances. Thing is, I was and forever would be a girl who: (a) looked like her father; (b) wrote, like her father; and (c), shared initials and (almost) a birthday with her father. I even wound up going into advertising like my father, where my entire 10-year experience was one long object lesson in what it must be like to be the younger sibling trailing the exceptional, older one through every grade for a lifetime of schooling. In one way, it was nice; in every other way, it pretty much sucked ass.

When I came online, I heartily embraced the fashion of the day, referring to oneself by a handle, or blog name. It was great being the communicatrix, for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which was a lot less typing: "Colleen Wainwright" is one long-ass name.

But as the convention slowly fell out of favor, a victim of the shift from the goofy web to the business-minded web, I felt more and more like a clueless, hamfisted n00b with my retro-chic moniker. Worse, I was occasionally accused of a lack of transparency, me, the blabbity-blabbingest blabber on the web! The handle was starting to chafe; it felt less like me and more like me trying too hard. Ugh.

So over the past couple of weeks, I've been playing with my real name. Which is to say, when I go out to the web to play, I leave my actual name, not my handle, in the appropriate field of the comments box. And it feels...appropriate. Like I've grown up, like I don't need to thumb my nose at anyone or act weird and different. I am weird and different, and I'm down with it, as some kids somewhere said at one time or another. I'm weird and I'm different and I have a lot of damned letters in my name. That's what TextExpander is for.

I will still register for things with "communicatrix" and, I'm sure, I'll still comment occasionally as "the communicatrix." It's fun, and it's also me. But from now on, here, with you, I'm Colleen Wainwright. It's my name, and I'm (most likely) sticking to it...

xxx
c

Yup, that's my first passport. No, neither I nor my signature look anything like that anymore.

Serving suggestions

nycskyline_kennymatic

Here's what I find maddening about life: it never looks like what you think it will.

The most obvious example of this is traveling, where your idea of what a destination will look (and possibly feel) like is influenced by hundreds if not thousands of visual impressions captured by those who have been there before you. A gorgeous, brilliantly composed shot fueled by years of photographic know-how and the sweat of a thousand flunkies doing anything and everything from holding up bounce cards to shagging unwanted passersby away from the frame is setting you up for a huge disconnect when you bring your own self to the Eiffel Tower or Times Square or that place where Mary Tyler Moore threw her hat up in the air. Heck, even Flickr can mess you up.

Lest you think I'm slamming the advance team for their collusion in some kind of cheap, bait-and-switch, oversell, I'm not. The disconnect can work the other way, too, where you think something is going to be mundane and it ends up blowing your mind in the good way.

All I'm saying is that all the description in the world cannot prepare you for what a thing really is when you get there: love; New York; risotto; adulthood. Because all of the description in the world is leaving something out, is leaving a lot of things out, both of necessity (you can't record every impression you're having, ergo you can't share your exact experience with the world) and design, which is where (we hope) stuff like art and music and all their expressive cousins come in. The more I think about it, and I try not to, because this sort of stuff makes my head hurt, the more I believe that my recent stabs at "poetry" are attempts at delivering serving suggestions for various things I'm going through. Translation can be tough stuff, and relieving myself of the explicit i-dotting and t-crossing that's built into a regular essay frees me up to express the heart of the experience.

Or hey, maybe it's just me being lazy!

Either way, because I've been doing a lot of reflecting lately, and because it's a Monday after a two-day period of relative non-work where I did a whole lot more reflecting, I felt the need to express this. The destination may surprise you. It will probably surprise you. When you get to what it is you've been working toward, a primary relationship, a VP title, your own business, a gold statuette, it will not feel like or seem like or look like what you thought it might on the way there. I've been struggling to find clarity for nigh on two years now, and even as it's starting to come to me (albeit in SHORT bursts), it doesn't feel at all like I thought it might. It feels good, but it doesn't feel like done. I thought it would feel more like done.

Amazingly, I'm okay with that in a way I most certainly was not the first time I saw Trafalgar Square or high school or Sea Monkeysâ„¢. Chalk it up to experience, I guess. If you pay attention, experiences can be additive, not random.

And you start to see serving suggestions for what they are: one possible thing among many, one fellow traveler's stab at expression, one little taste of what's maybe/possibly, kinda/sorta yet to come...

xxx
c

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

Referral Friday: ReBagz

reBagzPanda

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

Marty Stevens-Heebner doesn't just make great bags, she re-makes them.

Via her latest business venture, ReBagz, outrageously colored rice sacks and old juice boxes are transformed into stylish totes and buckets and messenger bags, all impeccably cut and stitched to showcase the graphic tigers and stallions and European conquerers to maximum awesomeness.

ReBagz is Marty's third (at least) business venture, after book author and jewelry designer, and a natural outgrowth of the way she's lived her life, which thus far has been one not only of curiosity (she's learned first-hand that penguins in their native habitat are quite stinky) and expansiveness (she did extensive human rights work in post-Zapatista, 1990s Mexico) but principles: ReBagz are made by women, under fair working conditions which are personally certified by Marty. Because she's like the Pollyanna of eco-commerce, I shit you not. And she somehow does it all without making you feel bad about what a lazy, first-world Cheeto-eater you are. And by "you", I mean "me".

Full disclosure: Marty gave me a bag, as a ridiculously generous gesture of thanks for some information I threw out about Twitter and marketing in a webinar I did a ways back. Also, she's a consulting client. (Yes, a client who gives me a thank-you gift. I think I brought my G.I. doc some almond-flour muffins once, and that was only because I wanted to woo him into signing on with the Specific Carbohydrate Diet.) Cranky-butt, Grinchy cynics might mutter (they're always muttering, the cynics) that this was a PR ploy on the part of Miss Heebner, who was gleefully rubbing her hands together at the thought of a whopping 1,500 more people hearing about her already popular bags. (America Herrara wore one on Ugly Betty, for crying out loud!)

Pfft, I say. You'd have to meet her, but trust me, it's not how the lady rolls. Marty is about peace and fairness and designing kickass handbags with lots and lots of pockets.

And pandas. Of course...

xxx
c

  • To buy awesome bags at the ReBagz site, click here.
  • To learn how to become your own lady ecopreneur, click here. (There's automatic video and the design ain't rockin' my world, either, but her info will most likely rock yours if you're the right person.)

Poetry Thursday: Finish lines

onthemend_vmiramontes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One needs the closure
when one trucks in ellipses...

xxx
c

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

What if there really was room?

moneyshirt_Rob_Lee

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

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

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

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

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

What if you could just be a hot mess?

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

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

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

What if? What then?

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

xxx
c

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

Book review: Career Renegade

jonathanfields_sxsw_wendypiersall

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx
c

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

Ninja trick for dealing with jealousy

ninja_reyes

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

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

Oh, good: that thing is done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx
c

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

Referral Friday: Cuppa cuppa Barry's Tea

nicecuppa_malias

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers!

xxx
c

barrys

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

Poetry Thursday: Elder vision

washingdishes_chispita_666

My eyes
grow worse
as I
grow old

Betraying me at the sink
whose dirty dishes
somehow refuse
to get clean

Playing dangerous games
as I drive the freeway
at night

Stubbornly refusing
to shift between
the book in my hand
and anything beyond it

I can see half as well
as I could
half a lifetime ago

Maybe less

But what I cannot see clearly
is more than made up for
by what I can:
that we are only renting
that love is the answer
that everything can be seen
as a gift
or a lesson
or both
if you look at it
from the right angle

That this has come to others
before me
and will come to others still
when I am gone

These days
I see every moment
as one to be seized
and seizing
as whatever the moment calls for:
a hundred words, yes
and sometimes a thousand

But also
a two-mile walk
a cup of coffee
a nap
a hug
a bath
a pause

Even, sometimes,
a second pass
at the dishes

So lucky
to have dishes to clean

So lucky
to have time left to clean them

xxx
c

Image by chispita_666 via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Excavation, illumination, and The Resistor, revisited

darthvader_oswaldo

For those of you who don't track every damned thing I do, I've been a little busy lately addressing some...issues.

Or perhaps I should say, readdressing some issues, because two of these are whoppers that have been ongoing science projects: changing my relationship with money and getting down with my Actual Desires.

And readdressing these issues has brought back an old visitor 'round these parts, a little fella I like to call the Resistor, a shape-shifting, merciless motherf*cker whose sole purpose is to push back. Lovely, right?

I named him after a force Steven Pressfield describes in his battle guide for artists, The War of Art. Steven and his book have been much on my mind lately as I push back against the pushing back, or rather, he and it popped back into my brain when I sat down to write about the damned difficulty I've been having with writing lately. Because hey, the one thing I generally have little to no problem with is writing, so when that goes down, I know something's up.

I reasonably sure that the last thing Mr. Pressfield would want is for me to turn him into a patron saint of anything, much less Procrastination (or would it be anti-procrastination?), but hey, he wrote the book on it, and then showed me the fateful kindness of stepping out of the mists to say hello, so tough. Tough. We're at DEFCON 3, here, and as far as I'm concerned, that means I have license to do whatever it takes to beat the wave back. (Don't worry, Steven, I'm not actually going to bother you; I'll just, you know, light a candle and pray a little and stuff. From a respectful distance.)

So. Two things.

#1: Money is ass. I mean, it's great, what it can do, but it's ass, the way it gets abused. And my family graveyard is littered with the bodies of the Lousy with Money, in both senses of the phrase: they were either unbelievably good at acquiring it or terrible at disbursing it or both. A surprising number were both, which is doubly-super-awesome because then there is so much residual collateral damage after their deaths. Huzzah!

You grow up watching people who are either afraid of money or afraid of not having it and the chances that you'll magically have a healthy relationship to the stuff are sucker's odds. I've been outrageously fortunate in that, even without a lot of working at it, I've managed to have enough of the stuff to live comfortably my entire life. As my first shrink-slash-astrologer told me as part of a chart reading that I won on a bet*, while I have issues aplenty to keep me busy this planetary go-'round, money is not one of them.

Why, then, am I bothering to waste precious time, energy and (haha, irony pop-up!) money on correcting how I look at money? I don't even have a next generation to fret about passing this along to; the buck** stops with me.

Plain and simply, I think it's my job. I know it's not anywhere in the "hire me" section, but the more I do all this personal excavating-type stuff, the more it feels like that's what I'm here to do: excavate and illuminate. There will be no 1.34 children to benefit from my presto-change-o, but out of the few thousand people I reach via my various nefarious online activities, there may be one or two who will be spared some of the agony my family (most of whom I am estranged from because of money) and I have been through.

#2: 99% of the other shit I have left to deal with ties into #1. Those Actual Desires I mentioned above are so closely tied in with money, I feel very comfortable smooshing them together in one post and giving my Actual Desires short shrift here at the end. (Pause once more for the Irony Train to pass through.) After all, you can look over the whole almost-five years of this blog and find out-loud examples aplenty of me showing you my ghosties about being out there in a bigger arena. For Mistah Resistah, I'll be explicit: it is my full intention to remove every goddamned obstacle between me and getting what is is I'm supposed to be doing, which I have identified in this here article as the twin tasks of EXACAVATING and ILLUMINATING, out to the widest right audience.

You're already here; you know what it is that I do, and presumably, you're getting something out of it or you'd just, you know, hightail it out of here to one of the million-billion other places available to go and do one of the million-billion other things you could do with your own precious, precious time.

And so, to you, fellow traveler, I ask the following: take in what you feel it is useful to take in, and spread what you feel needs spreading. As you most likely are, but all the same, this is the place where it serves to be explicit. Forward this piece, or the website address (that's http://communicatrix.com), or re-post a chunk of it, or whatever. I've got 50 breathing down my neck and this Resistor cocksucker throwing up roadblocks and while I will do my best to grapple elegantly with both of them, I'm not too proud to ask for help.

You hear that, Resistor?

xxx
c

*Someday I will have to tell this full story, if I haven't already. It may have violated every ethical shrink code in the book, but boy, was it effective.
**Again with the irony! Although admittedly, this is more of a pun. Shudder.

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

Book review: Rightsizing Your Life

stonehouse_jsome1

Part of me living my life backwards has been about doing what Ciji Ware's excellent and comprehensive book, Rightsizing Your Life: Simplifying Your Surroundings While Keeping What Matters Most, discusses in detail: figuring out what works and why, and finding ways to let go of the rest.

It's the right prescriptive for People of a Certain Age (middle) who are headed into a new age (old), and that's who this book is written for. Aside from the general resistance to change, we are tremendously attached to our stuff here in the U.S., and by our personal mid-century marks, we tend to have accumulated quite a bit of it. As has been pointed out for eons, you can't take the stuff with you when you go; as people find when they're either forced by circumstances or drawn by new desires (fewer stairs, less dusting, more oceanfront), you can't fit it all into a beach condo, either. Plus, there's the dusting.

I love stuff as much as the next guy, but I've come to understand that, regardless of the cost of acquiring it, the price of having it is freedom. You don't really own your stuff, by definition, you can't. You're only renting. But your stuff can definitely own you, and does, when you silently agree to be the caretaker of stuff that no longer serves. (There's also the issue of acquiring stuff that never really served, or that served only to distract you from that big, empty hole inside you, but that's beyond the scope of this piece.)

The sweeping concept of this book is simple: as you move through the various stages of your life, stay awake to your needs and wants, and keep only what serves. If you can absorb the full meaning of that line and figure out the rest for yourself, godspeed. If not, Ware's book is filled with practical information about how to determine what's serving, as well as detailed information about the proper disposal of what's not. There are sections on editing down everything from wardrobe to cookware to photos, plus resources for help with physical removal of stuff. There are ways of doing it on the cheap or the medium or the high end. There are timelines and how-tos for people with the luxury of time, and those with change breathing down their necks. There's discussion on how to handle the move and, should you need to, handling another move. (Apparently, this happens more than you might think: sometimes life intervenes swiftly, and other times the downsizing bug really takes hold.)

Ware is a seasoned journalist, and it shows in the finished project. Rightsizing Your Life is a complete how-to manual, a great all-in-one reference guide, with the luxurious added bonus of being (hallelujah!) well written. It's a couple of years old, publishing date is 2007, but it's sadly timely, in light of the forced "rightsizing" a lot of people are finding themselves in with this difficult economy.

If you're facing a move and feeling overwhelm at the mere thought of it, or simply a logical Virgo type who likes the idea of a companionable checklist of sorts, this book is for you.

xxx
c

UPDATE: I should perhaps make it crystal clear that the primary audience for this book is the person or family of relative means, "rightsizing" to a simpler lifestyle that is still fueled by relative means. In other words, the American upper-middle class. If you're in doubt as to whether it's the right book for you, I'd encourage you to check out a copy from the library, browse it in the bookstore or just read the reviews on Amazon.com, which are pretty accurate.

Rightsizing Your Life: Simplifying Your Surroundings While Keeping What Matters Most, by Ciji Ware (Springboard, 2007)

Image by Jsome1 via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Doing the hard stuff

hardshooting_eyeliam

I have a confession to make that some of you who are constantly chastising me about working too hard (*cough* ANGIE *cough*) may find difficult to believe: I am, at heart, a lazy sumbitch.

As I can hear the chorus of disbelieving protests rising up from behind (or is that in front of?) computer screens everywhere, let me add that I have confirmation on this from the most vaunted of sources and a new favorite obsession (what? you didn't think lazy people could be obsessed?), the Enneagram. (Yeah, it feels woo-woo and squishy, but hey, I've got "virgo" in my tagline, and only there semi-ironically, after all.)

According to the Enneagram, or to various books and websites which explain it, I am a three, or a "three", or a "3", a.k.a. "the Achiever" or "the Succeeder," depending on which source you're referring to; for convenience's sake, from here on in let's go with "Achiever" and dispense with the quotation marks, as all the finger-motoring to the "shift" key gets tedious and Achievers have no time for tedium, as we are very busy with our achieving and/or succeeding. (Here is a fairly typical and good description of threes, if you can call the peculiar clutch of personality traits that define attention whores "good." Sorry. Quotation marks.)

The deal with Achievers, as you know if you've clicked through and might surmise even if you haven't, is that we work really, really hard...except when we don't, and we curl up into small, apathetic balls of non-activity and go on week-long benders of The Tudors. Everyone on the Enneagram wheel defaults to some evil or lame behavior when confronted with some kind of adverse circumstances; for threes, the behavior is laziness and the trigger is stress. Which, as you might guess, kind of comes along with the territory of pushing for achievement, especially when the thought of not getting it means the removal of love. Good times!

Because it wouldn't be a complete system without an equally strong shift in the opposite direction, if we push through the hard stuff and confront our fears, we blossom into the kind of thoughtful, fun, spotlight-sharing, "Goooooo, team!" types who, of COURSE, naturally attract the love and attention that motivates all of our baser behavior. And there are specific prescriptives for getting to this glorious place, all of which have to do with letting go, serving the greater good and not operating all by our lonesome. Which, again you might guess, is hard for us dig-me, loner, spotlight-hogging types.

I've committed myself to this personal growth stuff, though, and once you do, you're basically all-in. What's more, the Universe starts cooperating in weird ways you kind of wish it wouldn't, like when it makes you blurt out loud on the Twitter that you'll help mount a big unconference and then again when it makes you blurt out loud on a conference call that you will head up sponsorship opportunities, which means not only getting in touch with strangers, but asking them for money. Which you don't get, but which will disappear into sandwiches, swag and sodas, which in turn will disappear with the attendees.

Many hard things have been done this year by me, but none so hard for me as helping in the way I did with PresentationCamp LA. I confess, I got into it (I thought) for purely selfish reasons: raising my visibility as a speaker, getting another chance to speak, and meeting Cliff Atkinson. Out of the three, I accomplished exactly one, meeting Cliff, because frankly, between the running around and the stressing myself out about whether I'd do a decent job at my new and horrible job WHICH I SIGNED UP FOR, I was too fried to actually present anything. Worse, even after I thought I'd made my peace with this at 5pm on the Friday before Saturday's 8:15am call (Cliff and I met early to pick up more snacks), I flipped myself out even further and decided to put together a presentation on how to be funny. Because boy, nothing says "hilarious" like an exhausted speaker presenting material she put together in six hours and rehearsed exactly once.

At some point in the day, I let go of that lunatic notion completely and just tried to enjoy myself. And mostly, except for being tired, I did. Because everywhere I looked, I saw people having fun, real, unbridled, full-on, nerdly joy, because of what I, as one small part of a much bigger team, had put together. And baby, it felt great. Not b.s., fleeting-moment great, but deeply connected, awesome great. It was great just seeing it and soaking in it, but oh, no, that wasn't enough for the big, bad Universe, it had to send wave after wave of incredibly nice people up to me afterward to thank me for my part in giving them a great day.

Okay, okay. I get it. It's enough, for now.

One more small thing before I go, though. Because the Universe is such a meticulous motherfucker, it also has taken pains to point out to me various versions of "what if?": what if I don't do the hard stuff? What if I just do more and better of what I've been doing? What if I become outstanding at what I do? Won't that be enough?

And no. No, a thousand times no. Not by half. I've had wave after wave of mirrors put in front of me, showing me slightly different flavors of Me of One Possible Future, and no. No, thanks. I literally recoil from them. Yes, that's judging; I am also using the Remembrance to help me deal with that. I've seen possible ways, and now I know my way. I'm not sure where it leads to, ultimately, but I know that the other is the road to nowhere.

Onward. And excelsior!

And boy, wish me luck. Because like the song says, the going, she is never especially easy...

xxx
c

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

Referral Friday: BLANKSPACES

Coworking Los Angeles - Beverly Hills - West Hollywood

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

Let's get one thing clear right up front: I'm an introverted, Type-A, control-freak hermit who was never happier than when I got to kiss the office world goodbye.

But if I wasn't, I'd be at BLANKSPACES.

Frankly, I'm at this clean, modern, okay, sex-aaaay, co-working space quite a bit as it is, especially for a purported introvert. In addition to rent-by-day/week/month cubes, open-air "workbenches," and private, glass-walled conference rooms, BLANKSPACES has become the go-to spot for people hosting small-to-medium sized networking events. I've been to at least a dozen over the past six or eight months since I discovered the joint, and have enjoyed myself every time. BLANKSPACES-hosted events attract a lively mix of creative, enterprising freelance types, and the space itself is so beautiful and airy, even non-BLANKSPACE events have a gloss of magazine pictorial awesome.

Jerome Chang, the architect (literally! and a good one!) of BLANKSPACES, outlines his initial vision and intent for the space in an open letter to the community: to support the freelance community with the resources, both collaborative and physical, that inspire us to do our best work.

It's why we chose BLANKSPACES to host the first PresentationCamp LA. It's why I'll choose it when I start hosting one-on-one client sessions.

It's why I'm recommending it here...

xxx
c

BLANKSPACES
5405 Wilshire Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90036
(323) 330-9505

Rates, package information and free week trial here.
Cute ads that won't make you gack here.

Photo via BLANKSPACES.

Poetry Thursday: Trajectory of a cold

acquiesce_InSinU8

First, a tickle

Then an ache
or two
and many more yawns
but not too many to push through

Fair warning
for what comes next:
the sore throat
creeping down the pipes
the foul fog
crawling up my skull
lodging here
and there

Squeezing in
behind my eyes
while I squeeze in
one more call
one more thought
one more line
wrapping my brain in muck
but not too much to think through
however dimly

The cold and I
race one another
to see who will get there first
up and down my body
up and down my to-do list
even though we both know
who will win

The calls and the thoughts and the lines
fall flat
until finally
I fall, too,
on my back
into bed
which is where this cold
and the body that conjured it
have wanted me all along

I would rail and pout
but they've got me:
it's good here
in bed
with cool sheets
and dim lights
and I wonder why I struggled so long

And as I give in
letting sleep and gratitude
wash over me
I swear that this is the last time
and it will be

Until the next...

xxx
c

Image by InSinU8 via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.