White Hot

self hatred: beneath sugar-coated criticism + self improvement

Self hatred.
Could there be a heavier, shame-soaked, cringe-inducing concept?
Hating yourself.
Hatred.
Hate of self.
You hating...you.

Park that thought for a minute.

You're self-referencing. You're successful (and you're bright enough to know that that's a relative term.) You're a generally wide-awake, highly confident, compassionate, secure citizen of the collective. You know who you are. You're committed to knowing more. You practice mindful speech, you send light to the people who piss you off, you get regular massage treatments, you own a few sex toys, you do workshops. Clearly, you treat yourself well. You know you're worth it.

Self hatred? You?

Me?

I HATE MYSELF. THERE, I SAID IT.

I used to think my list of self-criticisms, we're just criticisms. Innocuous opinions I held about myself that were mild, understandable, reasonable even - part of being aware of my "shadow". Growth points. That on-going, fucking incessant chatter (as chill and dignified as it is,) goes something like this:

I SORT OF SUCK BECAUSE I SHOULD ... (and I bet you can insert your own list here...) lose ten more pounds, work less, be kinder to my man, more attentive to my boy, less concerned about "arriving", more responsive to my readers, less fixated on Twitter, more informed about world politics, less spendy, more willing to adopt a child, less judgmental of all of the shitty customer service and mediocrity in the world, more motivated to get my ass on my bike, less obsessive about strategic planning, more inclined to socialize, less irritated by small talk, more inclined to do less, and blah-blah-fucking-self-critical-unrelenting-BLAAAAH.

Add to that list: dust bunnies, a few missed birthdays, a grandmother that deserves a phone call, an overflowing Facebook inbox that I ignore, a nightstand piled high with books in progress (although I keep buying more books,) and some memories of thoughtless things I said to good people who may have been hurt by my ego ... and, well, it's not adding up to a lot of self-compassion or oozing Goddess worth, is it? It's not sounding so light, so harmless, or so innocuous, is it?

Park that thought for a minute.

I ADORE MYSELF. TRULY. NO QUESTION ABOUT IT.
I could list 10,000 reasons, here and now, why I'm The High Priestess of Loveliness. My heart is galactic. My mind is laser-razor. I've made some good choices this time around. AND YET ...

Those little paper cuts that I inflict on my spirit are not random or rootless. They are effective. They have a source. Yes, self-criticism may be well-intentioned. It may be fed by old hurts, family of origin, past lives, modern culture, mortal coil. But it's seeded from the murky marsh of loathing. And to greater and lesser degrees, it's part of everyone's psychic biosphere. The trick to drying it up is to shine some light on it.

Self-criticism is not "love", and it is certainly not indifferent. It's a form of hatred. And when I name that, when I see it for what it is (raw and uncomfortable and saddening...) when I refuse to sugar-coat self criticism, judgment, agitation, and constantly trying to improve myself, then I'm one quantum leap closer to freedom. Out of the swamp. Grounded in love.

. . . . . . .

The most lucid material I've come across on self judgment, ego and presence is The Unfolding Now, by AH Almaas.

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my dominatrix of decisions rides a hedgehog

How do you know when to say yes or no to a project or a client? Which Big Ideas get the green light or the kibosh? What exactly does "right time, right place" mean for you?

Only your Dominatrix of Decisions knows, and she has your best interests at heart. She will love you to the edge of your greatness, and snap her whip when you waffle. She wants you to stay on purpose, on target, and on fire. She wants you to say no to soul-draining gigs and time suckahs. She wants you to keep it pointed to where you want it to go, dammit.

This is how I employ her (remember, your Dominatrix actually works for you.) When a new idea or opportunity comes into view, I picture her in a kimono, with smokey eyes and platforms (yes, she is my altar/alter ego.) She leans over, surveying my potential choices, and whispers one word to me: Hedgehog. And snap! I know just what to do. Every time.

Let me back it up. Jim Collins wrote the mega seller, Good To Great. Good to Great features the Hedgehog Principle. The Hedgehog Principle is one mighty power tool for clarity and purpose-driving. It is deceptively simple. If you don't have a hog, you lose.

Hedgehogs for personalities or service-providers may seem different than that of product makers. But it's the same science. Here's a comparison of My HH vs. that of yoga wear business phenomenon, lululemon athletica's - as told to me by founder Chip Wilson a few years ago. BTW, lululemon is religious about the hog -- it's one of the many things I love about them.

ME vs. lululemon...an illustration of Hedgehogs at work

1. A) I am deeply passionate about: Liberating truth
Freeing the truth and truth that frees. My purpose is to inspire authenticity - freeing talent, ideas, voice, opinions, consciousness. I journey to freedom. It's a cellular-level commitment, and when I've diverged from that path in the past, the cost has been dear. When I stay the course of my truth, and support others in doing the same, I prosper in every possible way.

1. B) lululemon is deeply passionate about: helping people to be better athletes.
It's that simple and grand. Every single thing they produce - from innovative fabric that wicks away sweat, to thumb-hook sleeves - is a means to that end. Period.

2. A) I can be best in the world at: Sharing my journey
Telling my story and inviting other people to relate. I racked my noggin' on this one. But eureka! It came to me...no one can tell my story or share my acumen like I can. My experience is what I sell and the more I show up, the better.

note: the most important word in this Hedgehog sentence is can. It's not what are you the best in the world at (maybe it's not on purpose,) or what do you want to be the best in the world at (could be unrealistic.) Maybe you can only be the best in the world at making widgets that fit widget machines in Scandinavia, or advising females under thirty on investing in ethical funds in North America, or wedding planning in the tri-state area for under $20,000. Or maybe it just one thing you sell, such as...

2. B) lululemon can be best in the world at: women's black yoga pants.

Not very glamorous or all-encompassing, but a undeniably fundamental.

3. A) My economic engine is driven by: Multimedia.

I make money by packaging my wisdom in as many forms as possible, and most of those forms become passive income (ie. books.)

3. B) lululemon's economic engine is driven by vertical markets.

I do not bust a move, say yes, or make new stuff unless it's in sync with my Hedgehog Principle. It's pure, it's powerful and it works good and hard. Snap! Now be a good boy or girl and go get yourself a hog of your own.

 

juicy mind, happy product: a meditation for self promotion

Click here to read Part 1, The secret to self promotion: radiance and the facts, jack - whereby I expressed little sympathy buts lot's of love for people who shy away from self-promotion.

A MEDITATION FOR SELF PROMOTION

Meditation can take many forms. You can write this out in a journal, talk it out with a friend, or do the traditional sitting meditation. You're the master. Either way you choose to tap in, settle your mind and focus: take three deep breaths. Inhale and exhale. Slowly. Fully. (This is going to be fun, BTW. Avoid dry mind. Choose juicy mind.)

PHASE 1

1. Imagine that you're in an empty room. It's your ideal room, so maybe it's plush and luxy, or austere and Zen. You love it and you're comfortable.
2. Waiting outside the door to that room is your business, product, service, artwork - whatever you call what you offer for your livelihood. How do you feel knowing that it's outside the door? What is the flavour of your anticipation? Anxious? Smiling? Dread? Blessed and blissy?
3. Now, invite your business/product/service/artwork to join you. Do it ceremoniously or simply. Notice how you extend the invitation. (Sheepish, commanding, open, playful, hesitantly.) How does your business/product/service/artwork take form? As a ray of light, blueprint plans, a mighty robot, a peacock, a quivering beggar, a pile of gold, crates of bestselling books? How does your business/product/service/artwork feel to you? Just noticing how you extend the invitation and the form that your business/product/service/artwork took will be useful cosmic data. If you want to stop there, do so. Put the mediation on pause and come back to do phase two another day.

   Or, go further...

   PHASE 2
   
4. Ask your business/product/service/artwork if it has a message or a gift to give you. Receive it. Notice how you receive it.
5. Ask your business/product/service/artwork how it would like to be shared with the world. You may hear or see specific strategies (like, "e-books in the Fall,") or you may just feel the how, like, feelings of integrity, innovation, steadiness.
6. Now, (and this is important) let your business/product/service/artwork enter into you. You can breathe it in, you can imagine opening your heart and it climbing in, you can envision jacking into it and downloading it into your cells like an electrical current. The point here: you and your business/product/service/artwork are entwined and grooving together - unison.
7. Now, just...glow. Radiate. Vibrate. Hum your sonic powah, baby. Envision your creative light making it's way into the world effortlessly and being received with great appreciation.

Allow the ease. Honour the excitement and intensity. Say thank you.

 

the secret to self promotion: radiance and the facts, jack

Dear Danielle,

"Can I ask a question? I love working for myself and don't want it any other way, but it seems that when you work for yourself you have to be a salesperson. I'm not a huge fan of sales people and hate feeling like I'm pushing something on someone. If you have any opinions on that I'd love to hear them!"
- Dani Griffin (via Facebook)

Dear Dani and the leagues of people who hate self promotion:

I never really understood people who are loathe to sell themselves or the stuff they make. But then again, my whole twenties (okay, and thirties) was solar-powered by the rays of my seduction. From boys to gigs to new age notions, I had a deal for you! "I got what you want and you don't even know you want it. And I make house calls."

Now? Meh. I've got what I've got, which is a lot. If that warms your cockles, let's talk. If not, my engine is running, and I trust that your tribe is waiting for you elsewhere. Meep meep.

Do I sell my self? Damn straight I do. Everyday, all day. I'm doing it right now. I'll do it on Twitter, CBC TV, Facebook, this week's speaking gig for the Travel & Media Association of Canada, and when the waiter asks me what I do for a living. But I'm no longer TRYING TO CONVINCE YOU TO BELIEVE AND BUY. Rather, (and this has been one of my most gnarly, redeeming spiritual journeys) I radiate and state the facts. That's it. And it's a helluva lot more efficient than sales.

So, why do you hate self-promotion?

1. Because...it makes you feel like you're pushing something on someone?
Passion is a force - and an essential one at that. If you're not passionate about your service or your product, you shouldn't be selling it in the first place. If you're not passionate you have to fake it, and that'll just make you feel like a sleazeball.

But let's assume you are fully and truly turned on, and you're offering the world something that you wholeheartedly believe in. Repeat: you're anchored with integrity to purpose and meaning. That being the case, and the premise for everything I'm about to say after this, let's proceed:

Don't burn energy trying to assume how people will perceive you. What some people will read as enthusiastic stamina, others will interpret as pushy intruder. It's your job to show up as you, passion and all, and let the right customers make up their mind about you.

2. Because...you're shy?
You have three choices here: a) Get over it. Nothing like motivation to put food on the table or achieve your life dreams to cure shyness. It happens all the time. b) Let someone else do the selling for you - a writer, a rep, an agent, a virtual assistant-type. c) Pray that your good intentions and the high quality or originality of your offering will attract customers and prosperity. This tact, on it's own, never ever works.

3. Because it's not a "strength" of yours?
see #2.

4. Because you're afraid that people will think less of you? That you'll be less of an artist, social steward or true professional if you're hawking your wares or blowing your own horn.

Then I have bad news for you: everything you do is promotion, so you may as well do it with aplomb. The good news? Everything you do is promotion You are always radiating. From the personalized note that you tuck into your product shipment, to what you say at a party when someone asks you what you do, to how you pitch the art gallery or the corporation to get the big account -- to the message you leave on a Facebook page.

HAPPY SELF PROMOTION =
RADIATE your passion + STATE THE FACTS of what that passion generates - the results it brings for you and your customers.

I'll go first: I'm really passionate about the practical applications of love and consciousness in life and entrepreneurship. I write and speak about it in every way possible. I ran a think tank without any formal education, I wrote a book that got the attention of Oprah producers, and now, in my current incarnation, I'm booked four to six weeks in advance with clients - many of them say they got enough love 'n strategy in one hour to blow their circuits. I'm writing my next two books now, and will launch them online this year.

That's the passion, backed by the facts. Sometimes, at the start of your journey, all you may have in your inventory to "sell" is passion. And sometimes, that's enough to open doors.

If you're loving what you do and believing that it's going to make a positive difference in people's lives - whether it's your wedding photography, your coaching methodology, or your zero point energy invention, then, you my friend, are ahead of the game. You're light years down the path from the sorry sods who are grinning and bearing it in soul-sucking j-o-b-s.

So please, don't devalue your currency. I'm so emphatic about this, I'm willing to get all Hallmark on you: a gift isn't a gift until you give it away. Put a bow on it.

With much Love,
Danielle
xo

P.S.

Tune in Tuesday for Part 2: A Meditation for Self Promotion

 

the best list ever, by Danielle: vol. 1

The best of anything and everything. Random fantastic stuff that left an impression on my frontal lobe and softened heart. Do your own list. Do it here if you fancy, we've got the time and space. "The Best List Ever, by [insert your name]: Vol. 1. It'll make you simmer with sweet memories and proof of excellence. Here we go. This is gonna feel goood.

MY BEST LIST EVER. 100% adored. In no particular order.

1. The Missing Piece Meets The Big O, by Shel Silverstien. The most elegant and charming description of human relationships. Heartbreaking, really. It's my favourite wedding gift to give.
2. Wim Wenders', Wings of Desire and Far Away So Close. Made me want to fall in love, fly, move to Berlin, french-kiss Lou Reed, and talk to my angels.




3. Leonard Cohen at the Palo Solari in Santa Fe. Circa '95. Under the stars. A hot night. Angelic backup singers. Oozing the most Zen-Let's-All-Make-Love-Right-Now vibe humanly possible. Religious.
4. Dip big strawberries in sour-cream, and then dip it into brown sugar. Divine. Great picnic treat.
5. Pangea Organics Japanese Matcha Tea with Acai & Goji Berry Facial Mask. Incredible product from one of the most eco-progressive beauty companies, ever.
6. WordPress. There's a reason why Google bought it.
7. The Arlington Institute's FutureEdition. Best aggregation of news in global trends and outliers.
8. Pecha Kucha Night speaking events. 20 slides. 20 seconds each to talk about whatever inspires you (or me). Brilliant format.
9. Honey Beeswax Candles. I'm fanatical about them. They clean the air, are thus merciful on your lungs, and last forever. I order mine from an equally fanatical craftsman in a small town in Ontario.
10. Tweezermans.
11. Krishnamurti. Total Freedom.
12. Allan Watts. Beyond Theology.
13. Sir Ken Robinson's TED Talk. How schools kill creativity. Hilarious and profound.
14. Soul centering sessions with Navjit Kandola.
15. Project jamming with Dyana Valentine.
16. The lavender milk chocolate sauce on Belgian waffles at Medina Cafe, Vancouver.
17. Jim Morrison's An American Prayer.
18. Maya Angelou speaking on stage in San Francisco. Proud poetic power personified.
19. Cheryl Sorg's text art. Got me one this year.
20. Patricia Larsen's abstract paintings. Got me one last year.
21. That time with S. in the cabin, doing that thing S. does so well.
22. Silk Concept duvets. Lux sleepies, no more cold feet, eco-kind.
23. Little Miss Sunshine.





24. Eminence Organics Yam & Pumpkin Enzyme Peel. Indispensable for ye ol' skin glow. Use it twice a week.
25. Paper Mate Medium Point blue pens. I've tried fancy fountain pens, mechanical pencils that made me look designy-cool. But it's the good n' cheapies that do the trick.
26. Your Sex is on Fire, Kings of Leon
27. Red Hot Chili Pepper's Stadium Arcadium. If you don't love this double CD, I'm not sure that we can be friends.
28. Rilke! "I want to unfold, for where I am folded, there I am a lie."
29. Rumi...Rumi...my love. "You were born with wings. Why prefer to crawl through life?"
30. Mary Oliver, sistah. "What will you do with your one wild and precious life?"
31. This advice from a mentor when it all fell apart: Know your rights.
32. Anthropolgie
33. Bella Cucina's Artichoke Lemon Pesto. It even made Oprah's list. (Tho' my list is so much juicer, don't you agree?)
34. Beauty, by John O' Donohue. Anything by John O'Donohue, really.
35. Hallelujah, as sung by kd lang, whom I think is one of the most masterful song interpreters ever. This performance makes me want to pull out all the stops in my life. And then be incredibly modest about it.




36. Pet insurance. Just get it.
37. Ten Thousand Waves. Santa Fe, NM. Heaven, hot tubs, and Indian oil in the hills. Heav-en.
38. The best moment with my kid, ever. We're eating chocolate cones outside an ice cream parlor at dusk. Me: "So, pookie, what's it like being alive?" The Kid (without missing a beat): "Oh mama! It's AAA-MAZ-ing! If I were a telephone, I'd be ringin' all the time!"

... to be continued ...

 

the goddess of grief: getting to the other side. and there is always another side.

This article has been a long time coming. You may want to put the kettle on.

"Grief can make a liar out of you because there is a disconnect between how you feel, and how you think you're supposed to behave." This was Maria Shriver's intro to her heart-gripping talk at the 2009 Women's Conference. I stumbled across the live telecast. The topic: Grief, Healing & Resilience. Interesting topic for a conference. That's kind of pushing it, I thought.

Then Marissa tweeted about grief catching her off guard. Ronna wrote about the barn burning down, and Emma started thinking about death - a lot. Kelly riffed about endings because she was inspired by Lianne philosophizing about "something dying to be born." Guess the death thing is up for the sistahs this season, I thought.

And then I went to a Transformational Speaking workshop with Gail Larsen - which is really group therapy disguised as enlightened toastmasters (and one of the best learning experiences I've had.) Gail spread out a large quilt on the floor with the cycles of life stitched in a big circle. She calls it the Journey Well Wheel. "Stand or pull your chair to where you think you are at this time of your life," she instructed. Easy, I thought, I'm here, at the Seek Support-Experiment-Emerge stages. Just before which is Grief and Letting Go. But no matter how I tried to stay in my place, my chair mysteriously kept eeking toward the grief zone. Like a ghost was pushing me - away from the lie, toward the white hot truth. Black as it was.

LAST YEAR, I DIED
I handed over the keys to the studio/office I'd help to fill with staff, laptops and artwork - to the company that had my name on the door, on the parking stall, on the book, the domain name, the shareholder certificates. Passwords were changed. Computers stripped. Lawyers retained. The CEO I was so wise to hire was given the go ahead to change the business model - and the new strategy didn't include very much of me. I was out.

A few months after my, uh, departure, I was scrolling through Craigslist looking to buy a new desk and came across a desk that I loved - no wonder, it was my desk - my former desk. And that is how I found out that the company was having a going out of business sale. The company was divided up and auctioned off - the book, the intellectual property, the website. Sold to the highest bidders. It was over, except for major bank debt, for which I was partly personally liable.

I'm feline by nature - a gold medalist in Landing On My Feet. This year: I launched WhiteHotTruth to a great reception (a thousand thank yous to each of you for being here.) I did Fire Starter groups in about sixteen cities. I've worked with nearly one hundred Fire Starter clients. Shot a demo reel for a new TV show that I could star in. Spoke on some very big stages. Scored a gig as commentator of a national prime-time TV show. Gave dozens of interviews. Wrote a book proposal. Outlined two more books, and have strategized a content and collaboration roll out for 2010 that has me ablaze with more artistic joy than I have ever experienced. Creative sovereignty rocks. Hard.

Those are the facts. Facts can disguise grief...only for so long.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross & David Kessler's legendary Five Stages of Grief applies just as much to the death of dreams and identity as it does to people: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. It's brilliant, compassionate, and whole, like a Goddess.

Grief is one of the most powerful Goddesses. She swallows your agony and lets it tear her apart. Beautiful birds fly from her belly - each one an insight into life and your power. Grief brings the whole flock to your window and she waits and waits to reveal universal truths to you. She goes to the depths with you. She rises with you.

Grief won't rest until you swallow the medicine she made especially for you, and tell her your story of death...and life.

HOW TO ABSORB THE MEDICINE OF GRIEF

1. Grief messes with your focus. When she's tap-tap-tapping on the door of your consciousness, it becomes difficult to concentrate. You're not sure what the priorities are, not sure where to put your attention, and when you do put it somewhere, it slips off easily. Time does not feel fresh, it feels a bit stale. Launching new things feels awkward, subtly inappropriate.

Give your self space to meander, aimlessly. Aim less. Under achieve. Be confused. As Nietzsche said, "You must have confusion in your heart to give birth to stars." You are giving birth to a new reality. It takes tremendous resources. Healing hurts before it feels right.

2. Grief is patient. Grief may operate on a time-release capsule system. She'll let you be busy and distracted for a long period of time before she descends. She respects survival mechanisms and the necessities.

So go ahead and throw yourself into work or hobbies. Just know that...

3. Denying grief her power squelches your vitality. You can dream and laugh and march on, but until you swallow the bitter tea that Grief has brewed, things won't be as vibrant or grounded as they could be. And that's half dead.

Recognize where you are numb. Notice the memories that ouch the most. This is the beginning of response-ability.

4. Grief crystallizes in your body. The medicine will get stuck in your muscle memory and joints. It needs to circulate and be digested.

You have to dance grief to the surface. Stomp. Rock. Stretch. Move without your intellect getting in the way. Keep moving.

5. Grief thinks scars make for great tattoos.

Accept that you'll never be the same. Trauma marks you. Embrace how much more dimensional you've become.

6. Like Bindu just reminded me, "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." (Maya Angelou). Grief needs to hear your story told.

Speak it out to a sacred listener. Be witnessed. And then...

7. Tell a new story, one that includes the description of how you healed. The Goddess of Grief's favourite word is Goodbye. You can smile when you say that.

 

in praise of women: magnificent, spacious, fiery witnesses

Michelle at Wicked Whimsy inspired me to go a bit deeper with a comment that I made in a recent interview:

I often hear “women are our own worst enemies” in terms of our culture. I’m tired of that argument. I think everyone is their own worst enemy, and I don’t think it’s about something women have specifically against each other.

The uh, broadness, of my experience with the women throughout my life leaves me humble, optimistic, proud, and grateful. I've been screwed over by females in business and love, and I've planted a few landmines myself. But those enemy-making times were the results of bumbling, struggling humanness, not ovaries or hormones. We could argue the bio-instincts to procreate, protect and feed that spurs some nasty behavior from chicks, or about Queen Bees and Wanna-Bees -- all very real social dynamics, but I'm here to give witness to the force of pure Goddess positivity that is the hallmark of my life. Word.

MY LIVED EXPERIENCE IS THAT WOMEN SIMPLY ADORE WOMEN:

: Women shake their cosmic pom poms. Go sister go! How many times has a girlfriend told you, that you got it going on, before your head out the door or the dressing room? That even though your new haircut makes you look like a mushroom, your ass looks grrreat. They'll be looking at your ass all night, not your hair. Really, you're hot. Just keep your hat on and don't sit down. Go get 'em.

: A woman makes a cup of her heart. She carries your concerns and fears with you, for you. When your eyes fill up with teary news, so do hers. It happens with women you've known for years, with women you just met at the grocery store, in the ladies room, in a prayer circle. She carries your story with her. She mixes honey with it and re-tells it to you and helps you notice how great you're doing, in spite of everything, because of everything.

: Women bear their fangs for you. Like when Tammy threatened to butt her cigarette out between buddy's eyebrows if he didn't leave us alone. He walked, we rocked.

: Women feed each other - literally and figuratively. Think of all the meetings or retreats you've been to. Who brings the cocoa and sparkling water? Who remembers that you're lactose intolerant? Who asks you if you have everything you need?

: A woman will sacrifice without calling it a sacrifice. Leila was three months pregnant. I was moving cross-country (again.) Road trip anyone? We U-hauled our way from Seattle to Santa Fe with Leila coughing her cookies at every truck stop. I made it to my desert home and she flew back to the coast. And named her little girl Phoebe Danielle.

: Women hold on. It's like Audrey Hepburn said, "Never throw anyone out." It's like my soul sister Donna says, "We're all bozos on the same bus so just go with it." Meep meep.

: Women bypass history. A good sister listens to you bitch about the same jerk for years, she helps you pack when you're smart enough to leave, and she stands by you when you repeat the same lesson with the next emotionally lame lover. She loves you enough to let you do it your way - again, and again, like it was the first time. No drama is too big for big women.

: A woman howls to help you remember what matters the most. She loves you enough to intervene. She will drag you out of your comfort zone and into the moonlight to say "What the fuck are you doing? You may have temporarily forgotten who you are, but I haven't and I'm hear to remind you." Like when Karen told me over green tea, "D, maybe it's all about the divine feminine for you, maybe that's the question to live. It's time to move on from playing small." Arooooo!

: Women touch you. Michelle and I went to visit a friend in the hospital recovering from surgery. Miche brought lavender lotion and massaged Friend's feet while she lay achy and groggy. I'll never forget that stunning moment of loving service.

: Women push. Push babies out, push babies into the world. Baby ideas. Baby thought forms. Baby parts of you. "But Danielle, it's just a thought-form that you 'can't take more,'" Navjit told me. "Don't constrict. Expand." Boundaries, pushed.

: Women know how to navigate the layers because they love the layers. Folds of skin, the sediments of time, the stories that build into the present. Like how Candis not only remembers what I love but knows why I love it. She is reverent, keen, actively interested in the why of me - and that is what it means to be witnessed by a woman. Word.

. . . . . . . .

"The serpent was the best thing to ever happen to Eve." Get this and other pro-cool chick note cards for your favourite sisters.

 

love local: an extra-special message for anyone trying to save the world

Hello, my name is Danielle and I'm a recovering Savior of the World. I used to think that my self-worth depended on my vegetarianism, my activism, futurism, my pro-this and anti-that. Had halo, would preach. Had 'isms, would teach.

I still wrestle with issues of spheres of influence (like one might wrestle a greased boa constrictor while wearing in a bikini - with great difficulty), but my circle of devotion has gotten decidedly more focused, or at least more proportioned. My a-ha on this came like a bolt of lighting, at a swanky event, in which I cried an ugly cry that I'll never forget.

I was at a weekend retreat in the Catsklills for thinkers thinking global-size thoughts. We fancied ourselves as change agents. And we were. The group of us was made up of economists, UN officials, socially responsible CEOs, media personalities, and bonafide spiritual leaders. Conversations were deeply meaningful and our love for our individual and shared causes cohered into a whole lotta serious inspiration. One of the afternoons was allotted for individual silent time and we were encouraged to reflect in solitude and then reconvene.

I spent some of my time in a dilapidated tree house in the woods. I journaled. I laid on the grass and cloud-watched. I thought about my "causes" and how much I poured into saving the world from all the things I thought it needed to be saved from. And my thoughts brought me home. Literally.

A few weeks before, my man and I got engaged. I was deep into thought about what commitment to a life together meant. The enormity of it, the sweetness of it, the terror of it....I thought of all that was required to be poured into it. And something in me cracked open that overcast day: I realized that most of my love was being poured outward, not homeward. It felt more noble to help people in far off countries and in future generations than it did to - simply - love the one I was with and love him well - the way he deserved to be loved.

We reconvened, sat in our fancy chairs in a circle, preparing to discuss our world-enhancing thoughts that had surfaced in our silent solitude. I wasn't aware of it for a few moments, but I was crying.

(Now, before I go any further with this story, it's essential that I tell you that I'm not a public crier. I don't even really like groups. I've done too many group workshops and those moments when sister gets up and bawls her eyes out about family of origin stuff or mister breaks down about his mean mother... well, I appreciate it. I feel deep compassion. Sometimes I admire those group-shared collapses. But I don't do it. My snot-gobbing heaving cries are sacred and best had in my bathtub or day bed. Except on this day, in front of the dignitaries and laureates. On this day, I was about to lose my shit like no other.)

The facilitator noticed me quietly whimpering. "Danielle, clearly you're moved. Would you like to share?" People were looking concerned and then I started to feel concerned because I noticed that I was really crying, like, my body was crying for me and there was no stopping it. For some reason, I grabbed the mic and I let 'er rip: "I, I, I just realized..." I was sobbing now, "I've been so fixated on the global, that, that, that... I've missed the love in my own home. I've, you know... I've missed the...the center of my circle." People nodded. I don't know if they related or thought I was pathetic. The silence was deafening.

And then I blew my nose and whimpered, "We can move on now." It was gross. And so we did. We talked about the layers of service and devotion and where we chose to put our energies. It was awkward and then beautiful and then powerful.

Everyone was really uncomfortably nice to me after that. I felt like they'd all seen my underpants, and I wasn't wearing any.

Am I happy that I slobbered all over my white shirt and blew my cover as a cool cucumber in front of those agents of change? Nope, not really. I'm just not that ego-less and evolved. I could have done without the high-exposure blubber fest. But it happened. And it put the world crises into perspective for me. And I went home. And for probably the first time, I was really home when I got there.

 

fear management vs. fear leadership

The song of an entrepreneur...
Secretly, I'm afraid we won't raise the money. But it's okay. I can plow through that fear. We'll raise the money, and everything will be okay. We'll raise the money and stand the business up. We'll have to hit our targets, get the customers in the door, run hard with the marketing plan. Yeah, it's scary. What if they don't come? What if they come but don't buy? What if they buy, but not enough? It's okay, I can manage that fear. It'll work. I'll make it work and everything will be okay. We'll do this.

What if you don't do it? What if you, say, "fail"? Does that mean that fear wins? How much do you need to be more than "okay"?

While we're busy managing fear, fear can be managing us. It's still creeping in, grabbing at our pant leg, begging to be paid attention to. And fear can always find a reason to get your attention - that's it's job - to get you to feed it. But what about the flu? (feed me!) But what about the market? (feed me!) But what about ten years from now? (feed me!) But what will they think? (feed me!)

Beyond coping with fear there is fearlessness. Because, here's the white hot truth: if you go bankrupt, you'll still be okay. If you lose the gig, the lover, the house, you'll still be okay. If you sing off key, get beat by the competition, have to hand in the keys, you will still be okay. Ask anyone who's been through it. They're more than okay. People survive and they learn to thrive. It's life. It's business.

Don't manage your fear. Lead your fear. Take charge. When fear climbs on your shoulder and starts nattering in your ear, here's what you do: You stand as a master. You tell Scaredy Cat where you're going, risks and all, and you convert Scaredy into a champion to help you get there. You say, lovingly but firmly (because ultimately the Scaredy Cat in you just wants some love and you've got plenty of it to give,) "Yep, we may fail, it's possible. This is risky shit. But we'll still be okay. Because that's who we are. We're the kind of people that are okay, no matter what. So remember that invincibility and let's get to work. There's a new land to discover and the only way to find it is to keep going - cliffs, cash flow, agony, adulation and all. If you keep your mouth shut and your eyes wide open, we'll get there sooner. We're doing this. We're doing this because we want to. Because this is what it means to do life."

And then watch what Scaredy Cat does. She'll look perplexed for a minute. She'll nuzzle up, as if to say thank you. And then she'll strut down the street to help you recruit some new business.

 

the psychedelics of strategic planning

The last time I did mushrooms, I was on my honeymoon. They were a wedding gift. (We have the best friends.) And the last time I dropped acid I was wearing shoulder pads and listening to The Flock of Seagulls. It's been a while. But since then, I've learned to alter my state, unassisted, and heighten my possibilities.

If you've done any psychedelic drugs you'll know that the "best" trips leave you expanded. You get a backstage pass to the Super Hero Concert of Life and you feel pretty freaking invincible. You see yourself in new shades and shapes. You score some privileged information. You come back to Earth with your groove on.

Wouldn't it be great to feel that mighty when you were mapping out your New Year, or writing your business plan? Wouldn't it be invigorating if, as you strategized, you really believed that anything was possible? That's the high of dreams. The divine stretch. Blue sky'ing. And it's essential to dynamic, robust strategies.

If you want a vital outcome, you need vitalized input. You gotta dance, shake it up, go extreme, hollah back and then come back to center where both possibility and pragmatism synergize. You've got to cross the line and get new information. That's why I ask some of my clients, "Look, if you, like dropped acid and wrote your business plan, what would it look like?" Works every time.

HOW TO UNLEASH YOUR STRATEGIC PLANNING POWER

1. The trip-prep: Analyze your dream fatigue. Sometimes you just get worn out from thinking big - especially entrepreneurs. Years of hard work, mid-course corrections, failures that lead to success, success that leads to failures. I've been there. After I left the company I co-founded last year, I could hardly bear to think about profit margins and wheeling new, big deals. I just wanted to write sutras and make soup. But dream fatigue will lift when you fully admit to it. Take stock, integrate your lessons - your new facts - and then move on, wiser for the wear. You simply cannot stop dreaming. You must, you must, dream a new dream.

2. Dream extreme. Loosen up. Unleash. Go wild. BE IMPRACTICAL. Get out of your box and stomp on it. Try egomania on for size. The phone rings. It's Oprah. Her staff have been reading your blog and they want to fly you to Chicago. Buddy in the cafe overhears you talking about your business plan and wouldn't you know it, he's a Venture Capitalist looking to unload some coin before the tax season ends. Your product is flying off the shelves. Bestseller. Soul mate. Awards. Radiance. Empire. The cover of Fast Company. TED Talks. Adulation. Overnight success. Euphoria.

FEEL THE HIGH OF THE EXTREME DREAM. Close your eyes and let your cells plump up with it. You should be peaking right about now.

3. While you're still tripping, imagine hanging with the Super Heroes of your industry. Assume that you are their contemporary. Ask for their grittiest stories and advice. Jam. Observe. Tell them your ideas, give them your pitch, sing them your song. Pay close attention to how they respond.

4. Come back to earth. Map out your plan - exactly from where you are. You may have found some courage or sagacity on the other side of the extreme dream. You may have imagined new possibilities. You may be thinking waaay bigger, or maybe much smaller, more precise. Either way, you'll know what super powers you want to focus on developing. And that's how you learn to fly. High.

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