Do You Want to Be Average?

Image courtesy of Amazon.com

I was first introduced to Chris Guillebeau by Sarah Robinson at her Creating Irresistible Presence conference last fall. Sarah raved about Chris' book, The Art of Non-Conformity, so of course I had to have it (along with a host of others). Today I wanted to share this list of his that inspires me. I hope it does the same for you.

11 Ways To Be Unremarkably Average

1. Accept what people tell you at face value.

2. Don't question authority.

3. Go to college because you're supposed to, not because you want to learn something.

4. Go overseas once or twice in your life, to somewhere safe like England.

5. Don't try to learn another language, everyone else will eventually learn English.

6. Think about starting your own business, but never do it.

7. Think about writing a book, but never do it.

8. Get the largest mortgage you qualify for and spend 30 years paying for it.

9. Sit at a desk 40 hours a week for an average of 10 hours of productive work.

10. Don't stand out or draw attention to yourself.

11. Jump through hoops. Check off boxes.


I don't know about you, but I readily identify with several of these, especially # 7. What do you think? What would you add to this list? Any of these make you cringe? Who wants to join me in my journey to being anything but average? (p.s. you can buy Chris' book here!)

I'm Loving My Mess--Allison Nazarian Style.

I've been busy, people. Busy delving into this incredible new book by Allison Nazarian, whom I had the pleasure and privilege of meeting in person back in September at CIP. (Jealous? I met a real, live, published writer and she autographed my copy!). It's ridiculously perfect for me. First off, just look at the title & cover:

Love Your Mess.

Nazarian writes about life being messy. Not literally messy, like the growing piles of paperwork, lists and bills littering my kitchen counter. Messy in the sense of emotionally, mentally and logistically. How real is your life, she asks? Because the conclusion she draws is that the more real we become, the messier life is. It just is. You know, like you can't have the chicken without the egg. Or which came first, the chicken or the egg? I forget how it goes. But you know what I mean.

"Messiness is a by-product of a life well-lived. It's not something to be avoided or ignored or falsely neatened up. And, in fact (get this), it is something you want. That you should strive for. That you should be thankful for.
Because the truth is this: No messiness means no lessons, no loving with abandon, no real living out loud." (p. 15)

Something else Allison writes about that really resonates with me is The Voice. The Voice says things like, "Of course you aren't getting anything done today...you are disorganized/unfocused/without purpose."

Or The Voice says, "Your kids are fighting because you are the world's worst Mother. Duh."

And it might even go so far as this, "You say writing is your top priority but you never get to it. Maybe you aren't really meant to be a writer. And even if you are a decent writer, you aren't making any money from writing. Stands to reason it's pretty worthless. Maybe you are, too?" (pp. 19-20)

I can't begin to describe how much I relate to all of this, these feelings. The Voice speaks to me all day every day. It rarely says anything positive. Here are some snippets of My Voice:

• You fancy yourself a writer, eh? But what do you write, exactly? A stupid blog?
• You've been saying for years that you want to write a book. Maybe you'll never really do it. And even if you do, who the heck is gonna publish that shit, let alone read it?
• You're a horrible mother. Those twins steamroll you. Clearly they're wearing the pants.
• You totally suck in the kitchen. You can't even make your own pie crusts.
• Your laundry room is a wreck. Why can't you ever clean it up? And that dusty thing in the cabinet? It's called an iron. Use it once in a while, mmm'kay?
• You're a bad wife. Being tired all the time is no excuse.
• You're going on a girls' trip to Vegas? You don't deserve to do that. You should skip it.
• Why are you wearing your pajamas during the daytime? And when was your last shower?

I'm giving The Voice the finger. I'm well aware my life is messy. But it's a good thing. Now I just need to learn to embrace it, accept it, and snuggle up on the couch with it. Because it's part of what makes me uniquely me. And as for my many messes? If you're a regular reader, you know about most of them. My gay dad, my struggles with my body image, bullies, and two short people who are running the show here when I should be. Because I'm the mom. Well, at the very least, I'm gonna write a damn good book about my messes. I mean, I'm not literally stealing Allison's idea, I just mean I'm going to write about the stuff that makes up my messy life. And YOU are going to buy a copy. Even if it's 20 years from now it better not take me that long, God damn it.

This book is so good I'm making flashcards to tape up all over my bathroom mirror, fridge, and on the inside of my car with quotes from it. I also think Allison should make an audio version so I can listen to her affirmations and wisdom while I'm driving my mom-mobile (hint, hint). Reading about her mess is especially comforting because she is a published writer who's experienced a similar kind of muckety muck that I have. And she's not afraid to admit it. Did I mention she autographed my copy? Which means I'm not alone, and it also gives me the courage to be more open about my messes. Which I think I have been, especially lately, on my blog.

You will love this book. You will fall in love with Allison just as I have. She's candid, bright, and she's helping me learn how to live.


Ergo:
I'm going to Vegas, baby. I deserve it.

Do you have The Voice in your head? What does it say to you?
Wanna read more? Go here and buy Allison's kick-ass book.

I'm Not Sorry. Really.

I just read this friggin' fantabulous post via @DanielleSmithTV of ExtraordinaryMommy.com. It struck a nerve and I felt things within me begin to shift, crack, and turn on themselves. I was reading about myself. And I bet if you hop over there, you'll find the very same thing.

I apologize all the time. For nothing. For everything. For little, silly, insignificant things. "I'm sorry" is likely the most oft-used phrase in my vocabulary and perhaps beginning today I'll keep a tally--maybe even the next few days. Anyone wanna make any guesses? Maybe I'll throw in a prize? (Or I won't, and then I won't apologize. Mmm'kay?)

Danielle's post made me think about where it comes from, this incessant need to blurt out the phrase so frequently. It's become such a bad habit. I don't even realize I'm saying it half the time. I think it comes from my core, my lack of respect for myself, the high standards I hold myself to. It comes from listening to my mother who also apologizes on a regular basis. But like Danielle points out, it seems women are doing most of this, not men. Why? Because for the most part, we're the ones in the trenches. We're juggling everything, doing it all, trying to make 3,428 things fall into place on any given day. Even if we don't "work" per se and stay home with the kids, we're still cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, playing chauffeur, laundress, secretary, and personal shopper. We're raking the leaves, pulling the weeds, taking out the trash, playing referee and unclogging the toilet . We're schlepping to the vet, schlepping to the pediatrician, and schlepping to the PTA meetings. We're wiping butts, wiping countertops, and wiping runny noses. We're running errands, running after soccer balls in the street, running up and down the stairs. When we're off our game, the whole house of cards collapses; dinner doesn't get made, Joey's late for soccer practice, and we come home to dog barf all over the kitchen floor. And then we say it. We say, "I'm sorry."

No more I'm sorry. It's okay to have Stouffer's frozen lasagna for dinner sometimes.

No more Mrs. Nicey Nice. It's pointless to feel badly about stupid stuff.

No more apologizing for things that are not my fault or are out of my control (i.e. dog puke).

No more even thinking about apologizing when it's unnecessary.

No more apologizing for calling someone, worrying it might be a bad time (that's what voice mail is for).

No more apologizing to my kids when I'm telling them they can't do something. I'm the mom. I'M IN CHARGE, DAMN IT.

No more apologizing for crying. Emotions happen.

No more apologizing for missing important meetings. I just had hernia surgery.

No more apologizing for not commenting on all of your blogs. I do what I can when I can. I still love you.

No more apologizing for not being able to constantly juggle the 2,754 things that are on my plate without missing a beat. It's just not humanly possible. Perfection is unattainable.

In conclusion, I'm not sorry. Really, I'm not.

What are you not sorry about? Are you a perpetual apologizer like me? Do we need to start an Apologizers Anonymous?

Do You Know My Friend Amy Oscar?

After my last post, I had a long conversation with my friend, Amy Oscar, who is an intuitive spiritual consultant. She was one of many I was lucky enough to meet at CIP, Sarah Robinson's conference I attended in September. What Amy does is fascinating, and I encourage you to read more about it here. Talking through things with her helped me put together some of the puzzle pieces I wrote about on Monday. One particular thing Amy said has stuck with me: "The story we tell over and over again is not the story." She suggested I take a look at things that were going on within our family before my dad came out of the closet. And indeed, there were things going on, but they will have to wait for another post.

According to Amy (I'm using her words verbatim because she says it far better than I could):

The third chakra is the seat of the will (and willpower). This is the place where "fire in the belly" lives, the personal 'foundry' where we forge, through our choices, the life that we will ultimately manifest.

In terms of your hernia, its location suggests to me a weakness in your ability to own your own choices, your authority over your own life. I said that perhaps, continuing to tell the story of the wound that you received when your father came out was holding you in the past - and holding this weakness/vulnerability open even though that event happened many years ago. Understanding the energy anatomy of the body can help us understand how symptoms and illness are often (I said, always) linked to causal factors in the psyche and energy body. In this way, a hernia - a weakness in the abdominal wall above the navel - suggests, to me, that this weakness, held over time had manifested from the energy body to the physical body and now physical surgery is the solution. From the perspective of energetic healing, you can support this surgery - and prevent further symptoms, recurrence, weakness in this chakra - by addressing the psychological issues in play.

Amy sent me here to check out this educational diagram of all the chakras and where they reside (if you're a curious bird like me). I was so intrigued that I asked Amy to give me the names of some books about all of this stuff so I can investigate further. Working with Amy again would be wonderful (if she's willing), and I'm  looking forward to learning and discovering more.

If you'd like to connect with Amy, you can find her on Twitter here:
Her blog is incredible, and I encourage you to subscribe now.
You can also find her on Facebook here.
Pssssst. She's also got a book coming!! It's going to be phenomenal, just like Amy!

Bits and pieces of our conversation, stream-of-consciousness style:

**symptoms in the body = flags from the psyche.
**so many things I'm dealing with: rage, betrayal, lying, and identity issues. All of these things coming to a head are like the an infection, like the wound in my abdominal wall.
**when I was 15, I shoved it all under the carpet to hide it-- the secret of my gay dad.
**intubation = symbolic b/c I could not speak, did not speak, did not have/use my voice.
**shame in homosexuality --> imagery I used of something I was choking on, being shoved down my throat.
**start looking at what was going on before dad came out.
**his coming out = his pulling the tube (intubation) out.
**other truths may still be buried, carrying a weight.
** the 3rd chakra is navel/stomach/belly button area = powerlessness.
**my dad didn't do anything to me, he did it for himself (I do know this, but still it's hard)
**to be writing/thinking about all of this now is good, but risky in a way because of the historical blow coupled with the anniversary of the wound, and now surgery in the same week. But may also be cathartic and very healing (literally and metaphorically).

Amy gave me some food for thought in a big way. She was brilliant, insightful, kind, and gentle with me. I'm utterly and completely in awe of her. So hurry on over to her blog and get to know her!

The Biggest/Scariest Thing (Vlog) I've Ever Done.

It's no surprise that I'm a techno-moron, so bear with me. I have no clue how to combine the two clips below into a single vlog. I wouldn't be ballsy enough to post this if I hadn't gone to CIP. These are some major revelations and it's a huge deal that I'm even sharing this drivel. Oh, and I blink a lot while I vlog, apparently. I frequently pause while I'm formulating thoughts. Get over it. You know you love me!

**I should preface this by saying I love my dad dearly. I realize these clips could easily be misinterpreted, but I wouldn't be the person I am today without him (i.e. his disclosure about his homosexuality). I am far more open-minded, educated, and real as a result. And perhaps I am a little more brave because of him, too.

Watch this one first:



And if you're still awake, please watch this slightly longer one:



If you've managed to sit through these (combined it's about 7 minutes of video), you are my hero. And if you were bored out of your mind, I completely understand and no hard feelings. Really.

But this is me.

This.
Is.
Me.

In all my glory.
So take it or leave it.
Thoughts? Comments?

I Know This Much Is True

My experience at @SarahRobinson's event, Creating Irresistible Presence, over the weekend was so mind blowing that I'm not sure where to begin. This was my first conference ever, and it was a smart choice. I made wonderful new friends, centered myself and realized that this book I want to write-- this giant looming task that's been scaring me shitless-- is already writing itself on this very blog. Who knew? (insert lightbulb flash here)

Moving right along.

I know this much is true:

If I don't write, I'll die.
I am scared.
Scared in general, and scared to write about certain things.
"They" tell me I'm not good enough.
"They" tell me everything has already been written, & written better.
"They" tell me not to bother, because no one will care, and no one will read.
I have to stop listening to them. They don't matter.

I am nauseous. I am going to throw up. I feel the burning bile in the back my throat.
The fear bubbles up inside of me, unfurling and reaching, ready to take over.
But I'm not going to let it. I am standing up. I am tall. I am strong.
I am not a shrinking violet. I will not shrink to fit.

There are stories stirring underneath my skin. Little flutters waiting to be set free in the wind.

My life, all that I choose to share, will be the legacy I leave to those who may be lost.

I am not alone.
I am not alone.
I am not alone.
I'll keep saying it until I believe it.

I just want to be loved.
I just want to be loved.
I just want to be loved.
I'll keep saying, "I am already loved" until I believe it.

I want: If you write it, they will come (a la Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams)
I am not going to beg, plead, bribe and whine at you to read my stuff.
I want you to want to come here. I want you to want me.
And I don't want to feel ashamed in wanting that. I want that to be okay.
I tell myself: I am special. What I have to say is important and significant.

I feel like I give so much love, but am afraid to ask for it in return.
I don't want to have to ask--I just want to feel it, to know it's there.
I felt it at CIP. A still warm, fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket wrapped around me.
Now I'm home and I don't feel it anymore, but I know it's still there.

My heart is so full of all of you. And so open.
I am making myself vulnerable to you.
I am scared. It's okay to be scared.....just a little bit.

What you see is what you get.
I am me. I am Erin. I have my quirks & faults, but my strengths, too.
I am enough, I do enough, I have "enough-ness" (thank you, @Nicole_Willis).
I am going to stop being so "good" (thank you @Tracilove).

I am a writer.
I am a writer.
I am a writer.

I AM A WRITER, DAMN IT!

What are you thinking right now? Please share your thoughts in the comments.

Doorways, Beginnings and Endings: Looking Both Ways

When I was in eighth grade suffering miserably through taking Latin I, I did a report on Janus, a god in Roman mythology. According to Wickipedia,

Janus is the god of gates, doors, doorways, beginnings and endings. His most prominent remnant in modern culture is his namesake, the month of January, which begins the new year.The reason for this is that one is looking back at the previous year and the other is looking forward to the new year ahead. He is most often depicted as having two faces or heads, facing in opposite directions. These heads were believed to look into both the future and the past.

Because we just celebrated Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, I have been thinking a lot about Janus, and about how I've been living my life...and wondering how it compares to the way you live yours?

Methinks I look back too much, checking over my shoulder to see what or who is lumbering behind me, calling me out, bringing me down. Is this a negative thing? I honestly don't know. My past often weighs heavily upon me. I lug it around like a ball and chain, unable to ever fully leave it behind. It's a part of me, inscribed upon my heart, so it's not always necessarily a physical burden. But it's always there, nesting just below the surface. Would it be better if I ignored my instincts, or patterns that have replayed throughout my life? Should I learn a way to chuck it all out with the greasy pizza boxes or lock it in a cold, metal box and hurl the key into the closest body of water? How do I release myself, how to I move over and beyond these mental blocks I've set up for myself?

I love things neat, tidy and orderly. I especially like closure. I adore definitive answers. I guess I'm slightly Type A/ OCD. But life obviously doesn't work that way. I know this. Life isn't a beautiful Tiffany box with a perfectly tied white bow on top. And I need to learn to live with that. Right?

There's so much I want to do in this life and I only get one shot. But right now, I'm not at my best because I've got too much holding me back. This is one reason I'm so excited to attend Creating Irresistible Presence next week with @katjaib, @AmyOscar, @lipdesign, @DooneyPug, @Lorilatimer, @AllisonNazarian, and of course, CIP's brainchild, @SarahRobinson. I want to start moving FORWARD. I want to leave the negativity behind, or at least somehow harness its power to help propel myself in the right direction.

What about you? Do you look both ways?

Crawling Out of My Little Erin Shell, or, Thank You, Mrs.(Sarah) Robinson!

While I was in high school, several of the guys in my class made fun of me by routinely saying, "Just crawl back into your little Erin shell." Those words gnawed at me and hurt me deeply, though I tried not to show it and to laugh it off or ignore it. I have always kept a protective "shell" around me, like a turtle or a snail. Ironically, that shell emerged years before because of similar circumstances and people saying ugly things to me. Even if they were simply joking, their words only made me loathe myself even more.

I've been an introvert much of my life and only let the real me out when I'm feeling truly comfortable....which takes a long time unless there is alcohol involved. But this blog has been an incredible outlet, allowing me the space to safely share my creativity and innermost thoughts. Many of you know I long to write a book and I often say that "I have a book in my head." Yet that book has never quite made it onto paper or into my computer. Fear stands in my way, fear of so many different things, but obviously failure is near the top of that list.

Over the weekend a Twitter friend, @SarahRobinson, messaged me about her upcoming conference: CIP, or Creating Irresistible Presence. Sarah is also the author of Escaping Mediocrity.  I recently saw a link on Twitter to her Burn the Ships post, which made me cry with recognition.

I bit the bullet. I overcame incredible nausea, called @SarahRobinson herself as well as @KatJaib and spoke with them both about potentially coming to the conference. And I did it. I hung up the phone, got on the computer, and made my reservations. It's a done deal. Hotlanta, here I come!

My walls are coming down.
My armor is coming off.
I'm making myself vulnerable and opening up.
I'm burning my ships, or my "shell," as it were.
(Thank you, Sarah Robinson!)

No more excuses, no more hiding, no more waiting.

I begin my journey at CIP in Atlanta in September.
I need to be pushed, pulled, stretched to my limit.
I need to be taken out of my comfort zone.
Like @SarahRobinson said, it's as if my words
are all there, but they're "stuck" in my throat and I can't get them out.

I'm going to find myself, that part of me that is ready, waiting.
She's perhaps buried under some rubble and wreckage, but she's there.
She just needs someone to help pull her out.

Who's with me?
And what are YOU waiting for? It's time to pull out all the stops. Burn your ships!