satorimedia

My current Reading

I'm falling behind.

To review for my adult site, I have a fiction piece, "Sacred Secrets" by Roxy Harte which is a bit difficult to read - not because it's badly written, it's not, it's quite good - but because the characters are working through relationship issues that hit a little too close to home.

And I'm also reading a review copy of "Dark Moon Rising" by Raven Kaldera, also difficult in light of relationship changes in the past year.

Out of curiousity (and at the recommendation of some of my favorite bloggers) I've also got "A Whole New Mind" in my bag, by Daniel Pink, which I'm hoping will be more than a bunch of cheerleading for the Age of Aquarius. So far it seems to be; I'm having to resist the urge, as I read it, to jump up and say "Yes! That's absolutely right!"

And Penelope Trunk's "Brazen Careerist" arrived in the mail yesterday, something I'm hoping will help me with my transition back to freelancing. The goal is to be able, by September, to either keep my day job or quit it. Whichever I want.

Freedom to choose.

Don't Give Them a Chance to Say No

Seth brings up a good point in his recent blog post about how NOT to start conversations. It's a basic tenet: don't give them the chance to use one-word answers. "How are you?" is met with "Fine" - semantic content, nil. "Wow, where did you get that great necklace/briefcase/llama?" is usually a better way to actually make a connection, to show the person that you actually see them, and are making a connection.

Part of my duties here include de facto receptionist. I never say "May I help you?" - I know that I can, I ask "How can I help you?" or, if I'm feeling jovial, "Hey there. What can I do ya for?" It breaks the mood, it makes them think about complete sentences for an answer, and it's just plain fun to see them thrown off their stride, expecting a grumpy tech guy and getting affable ol' me instead.

Proud Poppa Time

My daughters are all involved in this. Gotta love my little civilly disobedient girls...

The Dark Night of the GTDed Soul

After too much time frequenting sites like 43Folders and looking at organization pr0n from people like Mike Rohde and skulking around the lifehack and lifehacker communities, I finally took the plunge last week.

I went to Office Max and bought the folders, the in-basket, the paperclips and rubber bands and binder clips. I felt great when a sales associate found, buried in the top shelves, the label printer that was on sale at half-price. I blocked the two days that David recommended, and I even taped the template of the Getting Things Done template over my desk.

And I began the Big Sort. Everything went into the in-basket...which quickly became the in-box. I was vicious, I threw things away, I barraged my wife with "Is this yours? Where do you want it, this is my space, now!" And after a couple of hours, I had a very nice, clean desk. In fact, as long as I sat at it, it felt great-my laptop at a jaunty angle to the left, a nice pile of white paper in the center of the desk, a Pilot G2 next to it, and the blue/white cover of Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity; with David Allen smiling beatifically at me.

As long as I didn't turn around, of course, and actually look at the piles on the bed. The full-to-overflowing inbox. The pile of equipment/cables/etc that would need to be sorted. The stacks of books and magazines that would have to be filed, shelved, or finally, as a last resort, actually read. No, I couldn't look at that, because after the physical sorting, there's another step David demands (I almost said "suggests", but let's face it, he says often in the book basically "If you don't listen to my advice, and this doesn't work for you, whose fault is that?").

It's the mental cleanup. It's sitting down at that stack of papers and writing down EVERYTHING that's on your mind. Every project, from feed the cats to learn Chinese. And put them, one at a time, into the in box.

I got started. Heidi's Website. Satorimedia website. Get 1st Dan in Aikido. Run a marathon. Edit your novel. I started to sweat, my brow furrowed. Get a new car. Find a new apartment. What else? My mind raced, coming up with more and more things. Improve your wardrobe. Update blogroll on fameorfamine.com. Make more time for your daughters. Get shoes that don't smell. Organize your iTunes playlists.

Finally, I couldn't come up with any more. I was slumped there at the desk, physically sick. The stack of papers now in my inbox represented not the liberating "mind-like-water" that I'd read of, no, it represented failure, projects incomplete, dreams deferred, inadequacy and weakness and a lack of initiative and strategy.

It felt awful. And that's why I'm writing this, because Mike, Merlin, David, I don't remember any of you ever mentioning this feeling. Maybe it was just me. But it was like a crushing weight bearing down on me.

I left it all behind and went for a run (Run a marathon). Luckily it was a cold day, and the lake was blowing freezing wind at me, so I had something to fight against, to physically express the frustration and despair I was feeling. I ran, and ran, and wished I could keep running and that would be all I'd need to worry about. But eventually my path led back to the door.

I did go back. I went in, and started the processing. The flowchart was like an assembly line. Do it in less than 2 minutes? Fine, done. File? Fine, make another label (this is one thing that WAS right--making actual labels for the folders gave a joyful button-pushing video-game rush that lasted). Defer? Fine, put it in the Tickle Her file (I'm a fan of puns, what can I say).

The purge was interrupted by needing to go to dinner with my wife, and my demeanor was depressed, still. It wasn't done. I didn't have a mind like water, I had a mind like a sewage treatment plant after the flood.

I did not sleep well.

The next day I kept at it. File, purge, label, do it, repeat. And then open up the long dormant kGTD (I've got that, a moleskine, Tracks, Backpack...and none really does what I want it to. But kGTD comes closest). And the projects started going in...and it started to take shape.

My life, that is. Everything that had been on my mind went in that basket. Everything went out of that basket into kGTD, and the happy OmniOutlined tasks, merrily syncing and changing colors and sorting themselves...it was like the final push through the wall at the end of the race, when you can see the finish line and suddenly you aren't running, you are being run, and you realize that there is no choice, you are going to reach that finish line after all.

And then I was done. Well, mostly. I was done with the tasks; there's still some equipment that needs to be put away. Single tasks: Put away equipment. Filed. Tickled to next week, when I'll have time. And you know what? I'm not worrying about it now.

I finally reached it, that feeling of greatness (and, of course, that feeling of "I'd better keep up! Weekly review! Weekly review!"). But that dark transitional point...that was a surprise. So let that be a warning to you aspiring GTDers out there: do not stop halfway, and prepare yourself for the crushing weight of everything you've been carrying around inside to be unbelievably heavy when you actually drag it out and pile it up in front of you.

But when it's processed? Oh, you'll feel so light you'll skip, you'll laugh, you'll dance.

Better keep dancing, though. I don't want to go through it again.

Tags: kgtd, gtd, david allen, 43folders, lifehack, lifehacker, getting things done

The Dark Night of the GTDed Soul

After too much time frequenting sites like 43Folders and looking at organization pr0n from people like Mike Rohde and skulking around the lifehack and lifehacker communities, I finally took the plunge last week.

I went to Office Max and bought the folders, the in-basket, the paperclips and rubber bands and binder clips. I felt great when a sales associate found, buried in the top shelves, the label printer that was on sale at half-price. I blocked the two days that David recommended, and I even taped the template of the Getting Things Done template over my desk.

And I began the Big Sort. Everything went into the in-basket...which quickly became the in-box. I was vicious, I threw things away, I barraged my wife with "Is this yours? Where do you want it, this is my space, now!" And after a couple of hours, I had a very nice, clean desk. In fact, as long as I sat at it, it felt great-my laptop at a jaunty angle to the left, a nice pile of white paper in the center of the desk, a Pilot G2 next to it, and the blue/white cover of Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity; with David Allen smiling beatifically at me.

As long as I didn't turn around, of course, and actually look at the piles on the bed. The full-to-overflowing inbox. The pile of equipment/cables/etc that would need to be sorted. The stacks of books and magazines that would have to be filed, shelved, or finally, as a last resort, actually read. No, I couldn't look at that, because after the physical sorting, there's another step David demands (I almost said "suggests", but let's face it, he says often in the book basically "If you don't listen to my advice, and this doesn't work for you, whose fault is that?").

It's the mental cleanup. It's sitting down at that stack of papers and writing down EVERYTHING that's on your mind. Every project, from feed the cats to learn Chinese. And put them, one at a time, into the in box.

I got started. Heidi's Website. Satorimedia website. Get 1st Dan in Aikido. Run a marathon. Edit your novel. I started to sweat, my brow furrowed. Get a new car. Find a new apartment. What else? My mind raced, coming up with more and more things. Improve your wardrobe. Update blogroll on fameorfamine.com. Make more time for your daughters. Get shoes that don't smell. Organize your iTunes playlists.

Finally, I couldn't come up with any more. I was slumped there at the desk, physically sick. The stack of papers now in my inbox represented not the liberating "mind-like-water" that I'd read of, no, it represented failure, projects incomplete, dreams deferred, inadequacy and weakness and a lack of initiative and strategy.

It felt awful. And that's why I'm writing this, because Mike, Merlin, David, I don't remember any of you ever mentioning this feeling. Maybe it was just me. But it was like a crushing weight bearing down on me.

I left it all behind and went for a run (Run a marathon). Luckily it was a cold day, and the lake was blowing freezing wind at me, so I had something to fight against, to physically express the frustration and despair I was feeling. I ran, and ran, and wished I could keep running and that would be all I'd need to worry about. But eventually my path led back to the door.

I did go back. I went in, and started the processing. The flowchart was like an assembly line. Do it in less than 2 minutes? Fine, done. File? Fine, make another label (this is one thing that WAS right--making actual labels for the folders gave a joyful button-pushing video-game rush that lasted). Defer? Fine, put it in the Tickle Her file (I'm a fan of puns, what can I say).

The purge was interrupted by needing to go to dinner with my wife, and my demeanor was depressed, still. It wasn't done. I didn't have a mind like water, I had a mind like a sewage treatment plant after the flood.

I did not sleep well.

The next day I kept at it. File, purge, label, do it, repeat. And then open up the long dormant kGTD (I've got that, a moleskine, Tracks, Backpack...and none really does what I want it to. But kGTD comes closest). And the projects started going in...and it started to take shape.

My life, that is. Everything that had been on my mind went in that basket. Everything went out of that basket into kGTD, and the happy OmniOutlined tasks, merrily syncing and changing colors and sorting themselves...it was like the final push through the wall at the end of the race, when you can see the finish line and suddenly you aren't running, you are being run, and you realize that there is no choice, you are going to reach that finish line after all.

And then I was done. Well, mostly. I was done with the tasks; there's still some equipment that needs to be put away. Single tasks: Put away equipment. Filed. Tickled to next week, when I'll have time. And you know what? I'm not worrying about it now.

I finally reached it, that feeling of greatness (and, of course, that feeling of "I'd better keep up! Weekly review! Weekly review!"). But that dark transitional point...that was a surprise. So let that be a warning to you aspiring GTDers out there: do not stop halfway, and prepare yourself for the crushing weight of everything you've been carrying around inside to be unbelievably heavy when you actually drag it out and pile it up in front of you.

But when it's processed? Oh, you'll feel so light you'll skip, you'll laugh, you'll dance.

Better keep dancing, though. I don't want to go through it again.

Tags: kgtd, gtd, david allen, 43folders, lifehack, lifehacker, getting things done

Morning Ritual

Funny how easy it is to get OUT of rituals.

Not just the religious kind. I grew up Mormon; rituals were a major part of my daily routine, including 1 hour of scripture study every day. I don't do that no more. I used to go to aikido twice a week; no longer. Every once in a while I get back to sitting for 15 minutes in the morning, but it falls by the wayside as mornings get more frantic.

Most recently, three days out of the week I get up in the morning and lift weights for 1/2 hour. That has been a longer-lasting ritual, about 8 months, with some sliding but always with the joy of coming back to it. Right now, as I type this, I'm feeling the lassitude in my arms as they try to re-knit the muscles that I abused early this morning. And it makes me smile; that's burning calories, even as I sit here at the desk.

Also recently--within the last week or so--I've begun eye-gazing with my wife. It's based on the recommendation of a podcast about Polyamory, where authors of a book on Tantra were interviewed. The question was asked of them: what is the easiest, fastest way to start something tantric. The answer: spend 3 minutes, every morning, looking into your lover's eyes. That's it. Three minutes, doing nothing but looking into the eyes.

That one is working really well. We've both found that no matter how bad the rest of the day goes, the memory of seeing the eyes means that something good has happened. I think it's improving our intimacy and connection by leaps and bounds, something which had been suffering as we hit our 8th year together.

But one ritual that I really let slide, that I think I miss more than any other, is the ritual of writing. For a time I was following the Artist's Way, and doing my daily pages: 15 minutes of writing, first thing in the morning, no matter what. I remember we had a porch, then, and I could sit out there with coffee in the early morning and just journal.

I don't do that any more. Now I maintain about 5 blogs, and talk to other bloggers, and write in a writer's group, but I don't write the daily pages any more. And I miss it.

I suspect, if I had my way, my perfect morning ritual would be:

1. Wake up to eye gaze with my wife.
2. Lift weights for 1/2 hour, or do yoga.
3. Sit zazen for 15 minutes.
4. Grab the cup of coffee that was brewing, notebook, pen, and write for 15 minutes.
5. Shower, dress.
6. Check emails, blogs, etc. for 1/2 hour.
7. Make breakfast for my daughters, eat with them, drive them to school.

The problems with this? Well, the last one, especially: I don't actually have the same schedule as my daughters, and usually am out of the house before they're even awake. The rest...well, it's at least 2 hours before I get to the "breakfast" part, so again, I'd have to get up early.

Still. Now that I put it to paper, it looks doable.

Hmmm.

The Best Qualification I Have

I work in a field where the standards change constantly. Equipment, file formats, even styles of direction (Ken Burns changed everything) all are in a state of flux. So while I do have on my resume the skillsets and even some programs and equipment I've worked with, the primary skill I list is:

If I don't know how to do something, I can learn.

Admittedly, with the internet, this is easy. I recall the time I was wiring my house for a router, and didn't know how to tell the types of CAT5 cable apart. I went to google, typed in "How do I tell CAT5 cables apart?" and instantaneously got a clear diagram showing how to read the colored wires. Instantly.

I'm not a genius. I just know how to look for things. The unwillingness to do so is what a friend of mine terms "intellectual laziness", and it applies to people who would rather remain ignorant than learn how. I don't mind when a customer asks me to show them how to hook up a video projector. When the same customer asks me how 4 times in one day, simply because she knows then I'll do it for her...this becomes annoying.

Kathy Sierra validates this in her post over at Creating Passionate Users today, including a great quote from Jason Fried:

"Hire curious people. Even if they don't have the exact skill set you want, curious, passionate people can learn anything."

I am trying--with some success--to instill this in my daughters. "Dad, the TV won't play my DVD!" I could just go over and fix it. But instead I showed them, once, how the whole system works--the flow of information, the "out" and "in" of the RCA cables--and then, the next time, my response is just "Well, figure it out!"

Of course, this method has its dangers as well. There was one night, after a long day, when the DVD wouldn't work for me --and as I was tired, I was getting flustered and frustrated, swearing at the equipment which wasn't working as I'd expected.

My youngest daughter looked up from the couch. "Oh, Dad, it wasn't working before, so I re-wired the system. Push that button now--it's much easier."

And you know what? She was right.

Wouldn't it be nice...

"Do what you love, and the money will follow." This, along with a lot of other ideas from Barbara Sher, inspired me upon finishing college to eschew the cushy Web 1.0 jobs my friends were taking and strike out on my own. I formed a company, literally overnight, and set about marketing myself.

At first it was easy. I was landing 4 and 5 figure contracts, low, but steady, and I didn't even have to advertise. Then things started to get a little rough; some of the projects were too difficult for one person; my project management skills were not up to par; and I began a long, slow slide into financial ruin. It was not fun.

And it should have been. I should have taken only the jobs that I wanted, only the ones I would be passionate about. I should have trusted that saying "no" was ok. I should have done things like built up capital before I launched the thing, and networked more. Shouldashouldashoulda.

Most of all, though, I should have done what I really loved, rather than what I thought I should love. Rosa reminded me of this today:

"Right work is work you make happen on your own terms. You cultivate an entrepreneurial mindset, and you work for profit and not for a paycheck. Next you market what you produce; whether it be invention, talent, skill, or knowledge. You become a highly marketable, wildly desirable commodity that people are all to willing to pay for the privilege of having. It’s rarely a chore for you to produce more of what they might want from you, because you started off loving the doing of it in the first place. You are fueled by passion, you get affirmation and recognition when the marketing delivers sales, and the cash becomes gravy."

Right now, with some help from Mr. Pavlina's words and my loved ones, I'm working on maintaining that idea. That perspective that what is important is what I feel is important, not what my mind tells me I should feel is important.

Clear sentence structure obviously is not important.

But Rosa's post, along with many posts offshooting that, is well worth a read today.

Choosing...

(In case anyone's wondering, the last bit was an accidental double post that was supposed to go on my "Fame or Famine" blog. Sorry about the confusion. Go look at that blog. It's neat. And I get paid for it.)

Ah, those Slow Leadership folks. They are SO wise. Today's post on "The Wonder of Letting Go" contains more useful gems in one web page than I think I could hope to bring to this blog in a year. I'll let you go look at it yourself, rather than trying to paraphrase here, but among the many bits there are to talk about, this one is especially useful--and difficult--for me right now:

You can be like the guy who trains himself to see only threats and fears in the faces of other people, or the one who decides instead that the people around her are most likely a source of abundant joy and surprise, if only she is willing to let go and float with the tide of life. It is always your choice.

My girlfriend is big on the whole "visualizing" thing--just short of daily affirmations, but she has told me about the year she saw money as "abundant and flowing" and how she had done so well financially that year. My own experience with finances is not so hot--having been a single Dad with no marketable job skills and 4 infants to support, I tend to still live in a starvation mentality most of the time.

I've been trying to change that. I've been listening (with, admittedly, a healthy dose of skepticism) to Steve Pavlina's talk about the "Intention/Manifestation" idea, and decided "What the heck, I'll try it." The intention was pretty simple: to be seated behind a nice, reliable car that I own. That's it. Now, along with that would be a whole lot of other factors--it would mean, basically, that I was not worrying about money, and that would be quite a trick, as my loved ones would tell you.

To some extent, it has worked. I got the "alpha manifestation" he talks about, from a couple of different and surprising sources, and a few other opportunities came my way. And while it bears some of the snake-oil salesman's gimmick--"What, it didn't work? Well, then you must not have really believed!" there is also an element of "becoming one with the flow of the Tao" which I can really get behind, having used that Taoist philosophy to survive the USMC.

But in the last few days? There've been some financial circumstances that have set us back hundreds of dollars. Meager, hard fought savings have been depleted, and for a while, at least, we are again living on the edge of disaster. Travel plans have been cancelled, groceries frugally shopped for, and the change to a Moleskine planner regretted because I no longer have a Palm to hawk on eBay for spare cash.

And within this, it is difficult to maintain that choice that Slow Leadership talks about--to remember the mantra that I came up with when I manifest that intention: I'm not going to go looking for the money. The money's going to find me.

But I suppose I simply have to remember: whether I'm cheerful or maudlin, I'm still going to have the same low bank account. So I may as well be cheerful about it, and enjoy the life there is to live.

Dum vivimus, vivamus!

My Road Less Traveled, or, Taking the Time to Stop and Smell Myself

Kathy Sierra did it again, with a post about taking the road less traveled and never regretting it. Strangely, though, her entry did not make me want to go to New Zealand, or start another small business, or begin training for that marathon.

Rather, it reminded me that the road that is really less traveled for me is the inner one. Over the past 20 years I've had a very hectic life, mostly due to self-created stresses (for example, the day after my best friend, also my lawyer, mentioned that it might be a good idea to form a company someday, I had registered satorimedia LLC in Delaware and was forming my Board of Directors). I've always had a tendency to see an opportunity and jump in feet first, often with unforgettable and wonderful results. One that comes to mind was an opportunity about five years ago to travel to Gambier Island (off the coast of Vancouver) and spend a weekend with the author Spider Robinson and his wife, Jeanne. I didn't really have the money, or the time to spare, or a really good reason to go. But it was an opportunity that I didn't think would come again, and I was right. That trip led, directly, towards one of the most treasured and rewarding relationships of my life.

At the same time, I'm tired. The roller-coaster is getting a little stale, and I'm starting to wonder what I'm missing as I zoom down one slope and up another. Little phrases are sticking in my head, like this one from Cheri Huber:

Can you stop trying to change into who you wish you were long enough to find out who you really are?

And this one, from the book "Meeting the Shadow"

Meeting the shadow calls for slowing the pace of life, listening to the body's cues, and allowing ourselves time to be alone in order to digest the cryptic messages from the hidden world.

OK, so it is a little new-agey. But while I know I'm capable of amazing things, I also have this sneaking suspicion that it ought to be easier than this. It's a matter of building up my strengths, for a bit, before we go back and take on the world.

Customer Service

Just had one of those "stockphoto" moments.

Part of my day job is dealing with customers' requests for copies of programs we air on our station. I fielded a call a couple of days ago from an Indian man who had caught a glimpse of the program, and with his description I was able to identify it and secure an order. I told him how to send payment, thanked him, and added the DVDs to the queue of duplications.

No big deal, right?

Today I opened the payment letter. Take a look. It's hand-written on parchment paper embossed with a beautiful design, and it even takes pains to spell my name correctly. Admittedly, it may be taking common courtesy to an uncommon extreme, but I've got to say, it made my day. It also made me want to invest in some cool stationery of my own just so I could make someone else's day.

It's the flip side, I think, of the concept that Heidi Miller talked about in terms of customer service. But it's a logical extension: if we feel that the people we serve deserve that kind of care, why wouldn't the people who serve us?

OK, so that dance stuff...

Back to where we started last week...

One of the more memorable lessons I learned from Tim Glenn, a then-grad-student teacher of composition, involved transitions. He was getting frustrated with the tendency of us all to have dances consisting of "neat pose-->shuffle to next-->neat combination-->drop alignment and go into next-->neat pose". In other words, our dances consisted of more a strung-together series of nifty little segments than a coherent whole.

The problem, he said, was that we were so focused on the next movement, the next new thing, that we dropped out of our bodies. To help us out he asked us to imagine that if a snapshot were taken of us at any point during the dance it could be instantly hung on the wall as a masterpiece. If we were frozen at any moment in the dance, we would be sculptures worthy of any museum.

We paid more attention to our dancing, to the moments in between. Well, mostly. At the very least our attention improved, if our dances didn't.

Fast forward eight years to a couple of weeks ago. I was looking through some stock photography at iStockPhoto (thanks, PresentationZen!) and it occurred to me how present some of the people in the images were in whatever moment they were in. Sometimes ridiculously so--come on, does that latte really bring that big a smile to your face?--but in a flash, it occurred to me that one of the qualities requisite for any beautiful performance is presence--that is, being fully there in whatever you are doing, giving your full attention to it.

It was Tim Glenn's suggestion writ large, the idea that if a photo were taken of you at whatever moment in your day it would instantly be a beautiful stock photo simply because you were present in that moment, giving it your full attention. Typing this article on my MacBook could be used in Steve Jobs' next keynote; as I pause to take a sip of coffee (...) mmmm, Indie Coffee is going to use that pic of me in their next brochure because I am so into the French press coffee I ordered.

Now, when I mentioned this at the recent art retreat my wife and I enjoyed, the mentor/facilitator was completely appalled. He said that the kind of "superficiality" I was promoting really infuriated him, this idea that you had to be "beautiful" all of the time.

I'm not sure if I was ever able to explain to him that he was coming at it from the wrong direction, but I know the other participants got it. It wasn't about trying to be aware of how you look all the time and trying to look beautiful.

No, it was about the fact that if you are there, present in the moment, fully engaged in what you are doing, you can't help but be beautiful. It comes from within, and will be noticed...but only by people that are paying attention.

Makes for a fun game, really--both trying to be present in what you're doing, and at the same time looking at the people around you and noticing who is beautifully engaged.

Powered by Qumana

Day 1 of Summerwork

(the entries about dance as a metaphor for life are going to have to wait for some updates as this workshop here unfolds)

Today the summerwork started. It's a workshop created by Doug Rosenberg that is designed to mimic, to some degree, the Slow Food movement. Call it "Slow Art"; it's about taking the time and the locale and simply seeing what comes out of it. The workshop is non-genre-specific, as in there are video artists, dancers, sculptors, performers, writers...some of us are collaborating on work, and some of us (like me) seem to be wanting to use the time more for personal introspection.

The idea is to challenge, as much as possible, the "Known": what we know is beautiful, what we know of aesthetics, of technique, our ideas of good & bad. Even to challenge the use of language, of the idea of "art" per se. Rather than the idea of teaching & learning, there's a process of mentoring & collaborating, being anti-monolithic (as in the monoliths of "sculpture", "dance", and the related canons).

To continue the food metaphor, there is a question of "seeds of intentionality." In other words, let's assume there is something you want to develop. In farmwork, you plant corn seeds with the intention of growing corn. What would you plant in yourself, in your time, to achieve whatever it is you want to achieve. As he put it, what do you want to harvest.

In my notes, under that question, is a simple sentence:

   

I'm looking for my voice.

Not that I don't already have a lot to say; my work in performance, education, and activism to broaden the sexual freedom and equality of our culture is extensive enough. What I'm missing, though, is the integrity of vision to unify those works. I spend, I think, too much time thinking about what my audience wants to hear, how they will perceive, and not enough time remaining true to my own message.

And there's also trying to figure out what that message is, exactly...

The theme to think about, I think, is Authenticity. The idea that being your True Self (yes, I hate the Flagrant Use of CapS, but sometimes it works to emphasize concepts) is not only your right, but your duty to the human race. You have to be yourself, the best self as hard as you can, because culturally and genetically somewhere the human race decided it needed someone like you. And if you aren't going to be that person--then who is?

This is not a mantra for over-achieving. Exactly the opposite; the harder you try to be something, the more likely you're going to end up being someone else's something. If I tried to make a blog like 43 Folders, it would truly suck; I am not Merlin Mann. However, in my own blog, you will see his influence, just as you'll see it in my own lifehacking attempts. I can acknowledge his mentorship (even if he'd probably gack at the word) without even having to remotely emulate him; it's open-source, this lifehacking thing, and we can steal snippets of codeliving and splice them into our daily operating systems at will.

In talking about art, especially performance art and dance installations, Rosenberg talked about his response to people's criticism that some pieces didn't "go anywhere": "So what? What if the object doesn't go anywhere, it simply is what it is, and in the process of watching it, you go somewhere?"

Shortly after that, we went for a walk. Here is what poured out of my pen afterwards:

   

Went for a walk.

   

Exactly the kind of walk I hated as a child, a pointless, wandering, end-up-exactly-where-you-started  walk. No point to it but to, well, go for a walk.

   

I heard far off highways.

   

Birds.

   

I felt the myriad textures of leaves and flowers and grass.

   

I enjoyed the shiny black ripeness of the blackberry ready to fall, plucked weightily into my palm, then a smooth bursting onto my tongue with unbearable tart richness.

   

I had several.

   

I saw my wife, pensively walking behind me, and admired her skin and appreciated her presence here with me, sharing the walk in spite of our separate journeys.

   

I resented, a little, following the path. But I stayed with it, because I know there will be time later to cavort.

   

Most of all I was reminded that it really is all about intention. The quality of any experience–sex, a walk, a meal, your life–is directly proportional to the amount of presence you bring to it.

   

There's a part of me that wants this walk to have resulted in something, to have catalyzed some part of my creative self towards a Work. But on the whole, I'm surprisingly willing to just let it be what it is, and see where I'm going, instead.

   

Tags: art, life, summerwork, authenticity

Powered by Qumana

"Dance, don't scramble."

That was one of the guidelines I set for myself a little over a year ago during a marathon goal-setting session. I was tired of the constant pressure to catch up on the various projects in my life, of trying to desperately deal with each new crisis as it came up (and since I was in the tailspin of my freelance career, there were a lot of them).

I envisioned being able to laugh at new crises, at having the needed funds/materials/resources at my fingertips like juggling balls landing precisely when needed, not a moment sooner. I pictured myself laughing and smiling as goals were accomplished, relationships deepened, of life as a beautiful playground.

Hey, it was a goals session. You're supposed to have your head in the clouds.

Now a lot has changed. I'm working a "day job", still freelancing a bit on the side, and my old idea that I was overworked because I wanted more money has been blown away: I make more money now but am working more than ever on volunteer and activist projects that keep me still scrambling. Make that call! Arrange that rehearsal! Record that interview! Why isn't that vidcast up yet? The monkeys in my head are loud as ever.

Still, I think it's better. See, I've been learning new steps--the steady job has given me a bit more of stable stage to move on, and gradually I'm building a repetoire of techniques that are making things more graceful. For example, Chris Brogan's FatGuyGetsFit blog inspired me to try lifting free weights on a regular basis; now, three months and fifteen pounds later, I've added yoga to my early-morning exercise that is as natural to me as that Culver's ice cream used to be. Merlin turned me on to Moleskines and pens. Presentation Zen helped me give a kickass presentation with only three, count'em three, slides that said all I needed to in a graceful way. Most recently, a thread on Kathy Sierra's blog pointed me towards LifeBalance, which is keepig me more in line than anything else (even GTD) ever did.

All of this stuff, all the lifehacking fetishes, are ways to learn to move, just as learning to plie and extend and ronde that jambe was when I was in college. It's just moving through life, rather than a stage, and with the whole world as your partner. And just like in college, even on the new dance floor, my first few turns and attempts at choreography are going to be awkward, simplistic, and perhaps only have a glimmer of the beauty and grace I'm aiming for. That's ok; that's not important. What's important is that I keep moving, whether forward or back or up or down, building the life muscles and range of motion needed to really do that dance I envisioned.

This post is the first of several where I'm going to explore the idea of "life like dance", in the model of Kaprow's "life like art." My degree in dance had a focus on improv and Asian theatre forms, and the first version of this post (thanks, Chris, for the nudge) had so many ideas that I realized it would have to be a series.

Tomorrow: the purpose of in-between, or Turning Every Moment Into a Stock Photo.

What are you trying to prove?

That's the phrase that went through my head suddenly, last night, as I was putting the finishing touches on a proof-of-concept page for a web client. This was after a full day at my regular job, editing and posting a 50-minute podcast, taking my daughter out to ice cream to celebrate her 17th birthday...and I remembered the article I'd read earlier in the day, about the cult of overwork. I like to think of myself as a recovering workaholic; I pretty much drove myself into the ground, along with my business, in the eight years I freelanced full-time. When I took this new job, it seemed to be a step towards sanity, towards a more balanced work/life ratio.

Last night I realized that the workaholism is simply subsuming itself into things like self-improvement efforts (C'mon, you can learn Japanese! Why aren't you listening to the news while you do your workout? Shouldn't you be able to play ragtime guitar by now?) and higher and higher standards for my hobbies, podcasting and performing.

Which is why, suddenly, I asked myself last night, "What are you trying to prove?" It's not a light, rhetorical question. It's a real one: why am I doing all of this? Is it my life's work? Is it what I think I should be doing, or is it what I want to be doing? Is it, to borrow from Thomas Moore's canon, feeding my soul?

It may be. Some of it. But to be honest, when I asked myself, the answer I got was "I'm not lazy."

That's it? That's what I'm trying to prove with all this?

Hmmm. Seems like a re-organization of goals would be a good idea.

"How many days pass where we go to sleep exhausted, after a day packed with work - work unrelated to our goals? That’s sad, isn’t it?"

--"Work for Yourself First"

Even though the article does posit that getting up an hour earlier might be a good idea, which I'm loathe to do (I've already done it twice, and am swiftly reaching the point of diminishing returns), there's a lot in it that makes sense. Especially the focus on persistence, rather than quick fixes.  I think of it as "inching towards daylight", a phrase from Blade of Tyshalle, a fantasy book by Matthew Stover. It feeds my "accomplish the mission at all costs" mentality left over from the USMC, but in a more healthy way (more of a "don't give up" rather than "annihilate the opposition with overwhelming firepower").

 

Normal Days

Last week was insane. I had three performances to tech direct with the youth theatre group, a two-day conference to attend out of town, plus consulting with a web design client. This is, of course, on top of my regular employment. It was a madhouse whirlwind of schedules and driving and by jove, I got it all done. By sunday, Father's day, I was a relaxing happy bundle of clean code, standing ovations, efficient design, and new skills.

Today, I'm depressed.

Why is that? There's no one reason, or even pressing problem, that would make me depressed. I suspect, rather, that I've become addicted to the rush, the kind of over-scheduled accomplishment-oriented life that I've had since, oh, about sixteen.

Which is why this particular entry caught my eye, from Steve Pavlina's blog:

"If you’re going to spend most of your time experiencing rather than accomplishing, then perhaps it makes sense to focus on the quality of your daily experiences and not merely on the heights of your accomplishments.  It’s nice to have a truly fantastic day where you accomplish something wonderful, but what about your normal days?"

Now, I'll be honest--I don't think that his answers would work for everyone. In fact, the idea of going back to being fully self-employed gives me hives. That was not a pleasant or relaxing experience, to me.

At the same time, many of the things he lists are things I already do--the early morning exercise (not as much as he does, but very regular), the journaling, the audio learning. The difference is, he makes it a regular habit, a focused part of his day...whereas I make it a fit-it-in-wherever-I-can kind of practice. Therein lies the difference.

This article also made a difference in my thought. With a daughter just graduating, and three more barreling towards life outside the home, my "death meditation" has been more about "Yeah, I did good, I did my job, I get a rest now." It's slowly sinking in that I now have about 45 more years of my own life to think about, in terms of quality and what I want to do for me.

Happily, there really isn't much I'd change, at this point. This wasn't a disturbing article, just a thought-provoking one. Thanks and a happy birthday to Kathy Sierra for the link!

Kaizen

My absolute favorite presentation blog slapped my brain with a new concept today, incidentally giving me yet another reason to look forward to An Inconvenient Truth:

"One good piece of advice found in Guy Kawasaki's Rules for Revolutionaries is the idea of constantly striving for improvement, or churning. In Japanese we might refer to this idea as "kaizen" or an attitude of continually looking for ways to improve, even the smallest of details. It is interesting to see that Al Gore was constantly learning from each presentation and refining his message and his visuals along the way. This is a good lesson for all of us. If we present often, we should always be looking for ways to tweak our content or our supporting visuals to make it better. This does not always mean adding more; often it may mean subtracting or simplifying. Experience can be a great editor for us, helping us to churn our message over the weeks, months, or years." --Presentation Zen

OK, so I'm quoting a quote, but this is what came out at me this morning, and certainly not only for presentations.

Yesterday I was having a discussion with a friend who works as an opera singer about the validity of contemporary performance art. Her position was that it didn't qualify as "art" yet, because it didn't require discipline over years of practice, there wasn't an established canon, etc. In her words, "when a performance makes me feel the way the Sistine Chapel does, then I'll call it art."

Putting aside the fact that there is a canon, and the ridiculously high standard that statement sets, I find this concept of kaizen compelling. Whether it's my compulsive tweaking of personal organization systems via 43 Folders and Lifehacker or the revision of my eating habits using the Abs Diet (now in week 6, thank you, thank you, applause appreciated), I'm discovering that my true hobby seems to be fiddling with...my life. Changing little bits here and there to try and make it just a little better.

I used to think this restlessness was a bad thing; "Why can't you just give it a rest and be happy?!?" But perhaps it's simply a part of the inch-by-inch quest for self-improvement, the polishing of the mirror, as my aikido sensei used to say. Perhaps I need to stop criticizing myself for this habit, and see it for a strength, instead...