Generation Meh

I’m not a recipe slave. Even beyond the vegan thing and the celiac thing, I don’t feel obligated to hew to Betty Crocker if I have a better idea. If a dish requires onions or garlic, I leave them out. Ditto raisins. Double up the vanilla extract. Skip the coconut.  Mostly, this works or at least it tastes like it to someone who hasn’t eaten a bagel since 2005.

My firm belief is that you can always work with the emotional and intellectual and circumstantial ingredients you have on hand. You can always pull out all the cans and bottles and bowls and cobble something together. It’s matter of improvising and recognizing the useful application of what you’re surrounded with. Maybe you can’t find the cookie sheet, so you have to bake snickerdoodles in a pie plate, or you decide to bread the scallops with crushed potato chips, or swap the blueberries in those muffins for chocolate chunks. Or you start taking distance ed classes in order to finish your BA while working your day job. Or you get a roommate and put the money you’re saving on rent toward paying off your student loans. Or you start volunteering at an animal shelter to get your puppy fix until you’re in a position to be a responsible pet owner yourself. There’s always an option right now. There is always something new and interesting and rewarding that you can create with what you already have. Maybe it’s not exactly what you’ve been craving, but it meets an immediate need for sustenance and tides you over until you can truly get your fill.

Stop throwing in the towel because you only have walnuts and the recipe calls for almonds, or giving up before you start because whatever you concoct isn’t worth a spot on the menu at The French Laundry. Realize that being out of cocoa isn’t the end of the world. You can make something that doesn’t call for cocoa. And then the next time you’re at the supermarket, maybe you can remind yourself to pick some up. Or maybe you get distracted by looking for the briniest olives possible.

There’s a whole world out there between famine and filet mignon.  Eat up.

I’ve done the coaching thing before. I’ve written about how I tried to become a coach and just ended up feeling like a robot no one would ever love. So, when Erika Lyremark offered me a spot* in her Morning Whip business coaching program, I waffled a bit. On one hand, Erika is awesome (you guys, she used to be a STRIPPER). On the other, taking the time out to devote to rummaging around in my own head when I have 49 concrete things on my to-do list that need tackling seemed like a time suck that I could ill afford.  But awesome and free and curiosity won out, so I said yes.

It was a good choice. The Morning Whip is not for the commitment-phobic. The month-long program for (aspiring) entrepreneurs consists of three lessons/week, three corresponding teleconference discussions and lots of homework.  Participants (or Whipsters, as Erika calls them) are encouraged to share their progress by posting to a private Facebook group and participating in the thrice-weekly call-ins. Given that I work a 9 – 5, 8 – 5, 7:30 – 6, I couldn’t make the teleconferences, which is my big regret about my participation. I think it would have been even more energizing if I’d been able to interact with the rest of the class on the regular. I had to make do with listening to the lessons on my iPod at the gym.

Erika’s style is not at all touchy-feely. I would have never agreed to go along for the ride if it was. She swears (shoulds are sh*tty might be my favorite line in the whole program), she talks about getting naked for money and her audio lessons feature  sound clips of whips and stilettos. Despite being a fan of flats and many layers of clothing, I can relate. The Morning Whip is centered on tough girl empowerment – identify what you want, set concrete goals, give yourself an accountability structure (Erika refers to the Whip List, which calls for participants to list daily and monthly to-dos and expected results). Given that a lack of self-confidence has never been an issue around these parts, I appreciated that Erika emphasized practical steps to get from A to B, with a minimum of New Age hand-holding. I love me some hand-holding, but context is everything. She also provides examples from her own life and business, so you know these prescriptions are road-tested and not just lofty pronouncements.

I was a little concerned that because I only do the entrepreneur thing as a side hustle right now, I wouldn’t benefit as much as someone who is self-employed, but getting your butt kicked is getting your butt kicked, ya know? In a month in which I’ve been absolutely buried under projects, I found that having someone sternly telling me every day that I needed to keep my eye on the prize, ditch distractions and focus on monetizing my pie-in-the-sky ambitions was exactly what was called for.

And from a feminist perspective, I love the fact that Erika talks money (something we also covered when I interviewed her for Forbes a couple of months ago) with no hesitation. This is so refreshing. She assumes her (largely female) audience isn’t in business for self-actualization or for an altruistic high. Entrepreneurs want to earn cold hard cash and she makes no bones about the fact that the Morning Whip is ultimately aimed at getting participants to up their profitability vs. rolling around in a field of puppies that smell like fabric softener.

If you’re interested in checking out what Erika has to offer, she’s starting a new Morning Whip on Oct 23. If you have specific questions related to the program, drop her a line. She might be a business dominatrix, but she’s very gracious and approachable. Also, tell her that I said to ask her about her thoughts on hustling  vs. drug addiction. She’ll get the joke.

*Our agreement was that I would take the course for free in exchange for writing about my experience with the program. Erika had no idea what I was going to write and all opinions expressed are my own. No money changed hands and I don’t get a cut of the action if any of my readers end up enrolling. My credibility is as unimpeachable as my lady-like virtue.

I don’t believe in the laws of attraction thing, but I do believe that the energy you put out to the world and to others influences what you get back in return and in what manner. But not in the whole you are a magnet and good fortune is a box of paperclips kinda way.

It’s like how dogs can apparently now sniff out cancer; people can sniff out fear and self-doubt and lack of commitment. Maybe you’re saying all the right words, have the right ideas and genuinely believe that you’re ready to take this step or start this project, but your gut hasn’t signed on the dotted line. Your soul would rather catch a few ZZZs. Maybe you can’t see it yourself, but this lack of bone-deep drive shows in your presentation, shows in how you go after opportunities, in how you meet and overcome challenges. If you’re only 71% invested, it’s reflected in the quality of results you get for your efforts. You’re doing and saying everything you believe you should, you just aren’t  giving off the self-belief that underpins it all. Your pheromones don’t smell like commitment.

I’ve been talking about collaboration and adventure and whimsy for a long time, but that sort of stuff has only started to take root in my life within the last two months. Why? Because I’m now ready for it. My gut is good to go and my soul is psyched. People can pick up on that energy and focus when they deal with me (also, I smell really nice). I’m pitching work. I’m plotting a nerd revolution (no nerd left behind!). I’m tackling a super-secret project that makes me want to roll around on the floor like a little dachshund puppy.

It’s not about getting a personality transplant or winning the lottery or falling in love; it’s about being in a place where your intentions and actions are holding hands instead of trying to punch each other in the face. It’s about realizing that you have to clean your (figurative) house before you host the party of the century. No one will want to come over to play naked Twister if the living room floor is covered in cat hair and beer cans, ya dig?

If it feels like you’re not moving forward on your hopes and dreams and goals, it might be because some part of you isn’t 100% ready to tackle those hopes, dreams and goals. It might be bad timing, or a dearth of energy, or maybe your BIG ideal is only half-baked  and still in need of tweaking. It’s not the universe telling you to go back to bed; it’s you telling the universe (and everyone in it) that you need a deadline extension in order to turn in your very best work.

You keep asking your gut and heart if you’re there yet, so maybe you should start listening to the answer and accept that you might still have a few miles left to cover.

“I’m here to talk about ___,” I say with a big smile.

“And I see you’ve brought alcohol,” one of the men at the booth remarked, noting the glass of wine in my hand.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d just leave it on the counter at my booth, did you? You know who I work with. There’s no way it would be there when I got back!”

A round of hearty chuckles and I’m in.

I spent last week at a trade show/conference/big giant thing. I spent four straight days smiling, answering questions, brokering introductions, laughing at lame jokes, reciting specs and trying to avoid getting food stuck in my teeth. And networking, so much networking.

Somewhere along the way, we learn and internalize truths about ourselves. You got teased for being the tallest girl in fifth grade, so even though you topped out at 5’7” (fifth grade was the beginning and end of your growth spurt), you still think of yourself as a giant and can’t help slouching. Or your brother was a varsity basketball player, so you’ve always considered yourself the non-athletic sibling. You give up on the idea of training for a marathon, because how would a couch potato like you even go about something like that?

Maybe someone teased us or reprimanded us or we once got food poisoning at a Mexican restaurant and are now convinced we hate garlic with every fiber of our being, but somehow we came to define ourselves in certain ways and we rarely stop to question whether these truths are still accurate or were ever really true to begin with.

I’m not terrible at networking. I’m actually quite good at it. I can be charming and engaging and ask pertinent questions and speak knowledgeably about my industry. But it’s more convenient to tell myself that I’m a terrible networker because that lets me off the hook. I’m so terrible at it that I shouldn’t even bother wasting all that energy on trying. I should probably just head back to the hotel and watch episodes of Alan Partridge on my laptop, right?

The wrong-headed things we believe about ourselves provide us with an easy out – I am this. I have always been this. I will always be this. Being that is impossible and out of the question.

Give yourself a little homework assignment today right now. Write down five or ten characteristics or traits that you don’t like about yourself or that have a negative connotation to you. Then list the first time you became aware of each trait. I guarantee that you’ll be surprised at how far back some of the explanations go and how trivial the supporting evidence seems when compared to the influence you’ve let it have in defining your self-image ever since.

Are you really going to keep letting one failed HS calculus test have the power to define your relationship with math and prop up your “inability” to balance a checkbook?

It’s time to tell the truth.

“If I don’t become a spy, I’m probably just going to stop.”

There are not many people who could utter a line like that and have it make perfect sense in the moment. My friend K is one of those people.

What K was getting at was the idea that eventually you have to stop raging (okay, unless you’re Dylan Thomas) and just dig in and make your stand where you are. You get tired and discouraged or you get shaken to the core and have to put your priorities back in order or you just realize that the time you’ve been spending on round pegs and square holes is time you won’t get back, is time you could have spent cultivating an unencumbered, at peace you. And being okay with the fact that that person isn’t exactly who you’ve been fighting for all this time. That’s the kicker, of course.

Needless to say I’m not at that point. K has always been the more zen half of our friendship, able to refer to people as “lovely” and “genuine” without an ounce of patronization to it. By contrast, I have a crippling weakness for the word “douchebag.” I’m 10 lbs of rage in a 5-lb sack. But so are most of the people I like the best and relate to most closely – creative, driven, second-guessing, meticulous, hyperbolic, ambitious, egotistical, pedantic, talented, verbose, know-it-all, sleepless, idealistic variations on a theme. These are people whose wants almost swallow them whole, who always feel as if they’re trying to beat the clock, who tear it up and start again and again and again, who are viciously hard on themselves because they don’t know any other way to get things done. These are my people. And they’re not happy, not contented, not at peace. And maybe they’re we’re suffering for it?

It’s like when you’re first learning to write and you grip the pencil as hard as possible in order to eke out the letters, but if you never learn to loosen your grip, you get that weird bump on your middle finger* and then it’s 20 years later and your hand cramps while writing the rent check because you’re still forming the letters the only way you know how. It’s more effort than is needed and pretty inefficient, but it’s what works for you. And so is pushing and fighting and struggling. It feels natural and necessary and an acknowledgement that there are great stakes at risk here, even if we can’t precisely articulate what those stakes might be. It’s terrifying to contemplate that this effort might be for naught, that it may never pay off, that maybe you aren’t making progress, you’re just making your life so much harder than it needs to be.

But it’s not so easy to quit gripping, to stop raging, to be okay with who and how you are in the here and now, either. It’s pretty overwhelming to imagine stopping, just dropping what you’re doing right now and not picking up some new cause or quest. In fact, it might be even harder than all the pushing we’ve been doing in the first place. Maybe that’s why there’s always one last thing on the agenda ( becoming a spy, finishing that novel, losing 10 lbs, ) that keeps us from finally finding out what it would feel like.

*I still have mine; I rub my index finger against it when I need to tell my left hand from my right.