When I first started working for myself, I was like: OH HEY I HAVE ALL THESE HOURS! LOOK AT THEM IN ALL THEIR GLOWY DELIGHT! If the idea was to “be boed,” then great—I would be motherfau boed. (Get it? It’s the faux fuck, and it’s coming to a screen near you.) The surprise, of course, was that getting the work wasn’t the hard part: it was planning out the work. What I didn’t realize, then, is that time is
When I first started writing my business memoir, there was one thing I was terrible at: SCENE. Not because I didn’t understand the importance, but because it was holy fucking hard to remember what actually happened the eve of, say, April 17th, 1992, while so-and-so played a harmonica and Lucy Loo showed the boys her undies. WERE WE ALL WEARING BLUE? DID THE AIR SMELL OF DAISIES? HOW AM I SUPPOSE TO REMEMBER THIS AND WHY DO I FEEL LIKE
I like gel eggs. (WHO’S WITH ME ON THIS?) But I can never get the gel eggs just right, because they always turn out too dry, or undercoed. It’s hard to get that perfect precision. Then I bought a new pan. Made the gel eggs on the first try. The tools you use are as important as the work you put into it. Better outcome. Less cursing. That’s one reason why I’m switching these daily es to a new provider
Thou shall not wait for an imaginary endorsement from The Committee of True and Actual Greatness to affirm that you’re good enough to put your work out there. The traditional meritocracy meant that you could work your way up the ladder—but you’d have to wait for some creep to give you permission to climb each rung. From promotions at work, to having your art featured, to getting your own magazine column, to speaking on the topic of Teletubbies (or, hey,
It’s a funny thing, promoting yourself. I’m fairly certain most people would rather have a perfectly minty molar ripped violently from their mouth, using a rusty tool from the 1950’s, performed by a man named Jacque, than they would ever want to dare “sound like they are bragging.” Self-promotion is hard because nobody wants to be seen as self-absorbed—but there’s a difference, and it’s critical to your career. Why? Making your achievements known is the only way that other people
Everyone wants to stand out from the sea of sameness—a phrase I coined years ago, right here on this blog, when the Internet first started teetering toward “me, too!” syndrome. Ask most people how to stand out, and depending on their industry, they’ll tell you something different: Get a website! Learn how to write copy! Write an eBo! Get publicity! But those things, in and of themselves, do not help you stand out from the sea of sameness. They
If you were overweight and believed that you simply didn’t have the “genetics” to be slender—do you think you’d ever try? The stories you tell yourself aren’t your truth—they’re your shackles. So, what other things are you lying about?
“That’s the exception, not the rule,” is a tragic piece of advice. As any leader knows, “be the exception, not the rule,” is how leaders are born in the first place.
The other day someone to note of my new daily blog post. “You’re launching something big,” they said. “No,” I replied. “I’m just a writer.” We’ve gotten so used to there always being an ulterior motive, that we’re suspicious when there isn’t one. Do the thing you’re called to do, especially when you have no motive.
Things aren’t always what they seem. An e list full of 100,000 people is meaningless if only 100 of those people open the es. Similarly, an e list of 100 people, with 100 of those people opening them, does mean something. Who is successful? And who is doing something that actually matters?
The other day my project manager and I were talking about a project I really wanted to work on. Doing so, however, would require me to show up every single week at the same time. “Are you sure you want to commit to that?” she said, hesitantly. “Think freedom.” I didn’t even have to consider my response. “Giving myself a schedule is the only way I am free,” I said. “It means that the rest of my time is really
It is a tragedy, to spend so many hours working, and have none of them matter to you. Why would we ever do this? Why wouldn’t we do something we care about, fiercely? Maybe we just aren’t sure what that is. Maybe that’s the real problem.
What if I told you I was giving you your very own daily column, where you could write about anything you wanted? What if I told you I was giving you your own TV show, where you’d be the star? What if I told you I was putting you on the radio, where you could talk about the things that mattered to you every week? And what if I told you that we were going to do fancy photo shoots,
Checking into a hotel can be a nightmare. Long s. Tourists in hiking shoes. That bald guy pounding a beer. (At least, this was the scholarly scene I witnessed yesterday.) (Just kidding, I rooted him on.)But hotels are reticent to replace humans with technology, because they fear they’ll be sacrificing “the personal touch.” Do you know how many times I arrive to a hotel and wish I could just swipe my passport at a kiosk, like I do at the airport,
Mediocre questions for figuring out what you should do with your life: What type of industry should I go into? Which career path should I pursue? What kind of job should I get? What kind of business should I start? What services should I offer? How should I price this? What do I write? How do I do it? HOW CAN I BECOME A RICH, SKINNY BITCH WHO LOOKS FLAWLESS ON INSTAGRAM AND EATS CHILDREN FOR BREAKFAST? A better one: What
Yesterday I talked about change—and it’s no coincidence. I’m making some big changes myself, given that a lot of things are coming to an end, right now. Because iteration is what we’re all doing, every single day, even if it blows by us going 100mph down the freeway. (In a red Ferrari, sming a cigar, with a license plate that reads: TOOFAST4U.) We iterate as we breathe; we iterate every time we exercise; we iterate every time we learn something
Change is fucking messy. You’re effectively molding yourself, and re-molding yourself, the way a sculptor would a piece of clay. And yet, nobody says to the sculptor: Shame on you, butter fingers, for not having it perfect the first spin. Rather, there’s an expectation of process. Of trial, of error, of slow transformation; of forming, fashioning, shaping and smoothing. Nevertheless, we—masochistically enough—don’t allow ourselves the same courtesy. We expect flawless perfection, right out of the box. We beat ourselves up
You forgive yourself, over and over and over again. You build little glass cases around your emotions, one by one. You don’t always like feeling sectioned off—but you forgive yourself for that, too. You are fragile now. You learn how to be fragile. Fragile means you need to play by different rules, for a while. “No” becomes your religion. Solitude becomes your faith. Your entire life pulls backward, like a tightened bow and arrow, going backwards, backwards, backwards, backwards,
You know what’s the absolute worst? Waiting in at the doctor’s office. There’s a lot of anxiety around that, am I right? Nobody likes waiting at the doctor’s office because we all secretly think that the doctor’s just sitting behind a closed door somewhere, doing wheelies in an office chair, watching the minutes churn past with glee as they browse the latest in cutting edge gardening techniques while the rest of us waste away huddled together in
I’ve been writing a bo for nearly two years now, which sounds absolutely homicidal when I say it out loud. I mean, let’s be honest: most of my romantic relationships haven’t even lasted that long. (OKAY FINE, UNTIL NOW, BECAUSE THE LOS AND I ARE ON, LIKE, YEAR #BAZILLION.) I’ve learned a lot about commitment, these last two years, which means I’ve also learned a lot about myself. (For example, apparently I know jack shit about hyphens. Who knew?) But
Can we talk about the fact that today is February 2nd? How is it February the 2nd already? Am I eighty hundred years old yet? Because time seems not to be going my way. (Though a friend did recently compliment me on my skin, however that was only because she didn’t see my neck. Is this the decade in which we slowly descend upon a dysfunctional, passive-aggressive relationship with turtlenecks?) Speaking of time, you ever notice that when you’re away
For many people the election was a shock—but for me, it was a betrayal. There were things I thought I knew. I thought I knew, for example, that the smartest kid in my high school class—the one with the lightning fast wit and the ability to crush a calculus equation, who even held the title of “boyfriend” our junior year—would surely be voting the way I was. He was not. I thought I knew, for example, that the respectable,
Oh 2017. It’s an odd-numbered year, which always makes me feel uneasy about things. I mean, what good could come of a year that ends in the number seventeen? The last time seventeen and I met, I was sneaking out of my bedroom at one o’clock in the morning, discovering that beer came in forty-ounce bottles (GENIUS), and playing rap music on volume ten—while (get this) ***still being able to multitask.*** Ah, the luxury of youth. These days, anyone even so
Get a load of this insider information: Did you know your brain actually needs SLEEP? I’m pretty sure that none of us are ACTUALLY SLEEPING, and you know who I blame this entirely on? Wine. Holy mother of dragons, discovery of the decade: If I have wine at night, I will not be able to sleep. And by “not be able to sleep,” what I mean to say is that I’ll be laying there in bed like a pissed
So that happened this week. There’s a lot that could be said, and a lot I’ll refrain from saying, but I did want to send a courtesy note to say, first of all, that my new on business mentorship program is still moving forward—and starts tomorrow—and second, that holy moly, it’s about so much than your career. You know, I’d never thought too much about on business as something that could save the world—at least, not in much
*enthusiastic drum roll por favor* Just kidding. I’d actually like an electronic harp, please. (Obviously superior.) Ladies, gents, and pandas, it is my pleasure to announce that the all-new Unf*ckwithable Boss On Business Development Program is now officially open. If you ever wished that you and I could put our heads together over a bottle of wine, and work together for a series of weeks ing in hard and creating—or overhauling—your on business from start to finish, A-Z, this is for you. As
Hang onto your pumpkin loafs! (By which I mean, eat all the pumpkin loaf and then get yo’ glasses on, because there’s big news in the house today.) My brand-new business mentorship program has just rolled up in a Cadillac and is currently swigging vodka before making its debut onto the red carpet. It’s called UNF*CKWITHABLE BOSS, and it’s here to change the face of modern work forever. Unconventional name? Check. Unconventional purpose? Double check. If you’ve been thinking about striking