How to get up at the crack of dawn so that I can have more hours to workworkwork.

Or how to burn through my to-do list faster, better and sexier than ever before.

Or how to rip through my inbox like someone knee deep in the middle of a meth binge.

Or how to stand on one leg and juggle whatever I’m doing so that I can stuff more work into every hour of every day.

And, seriously, I’ve hit a saturation point with all of this.

I heart working smart
It’s not that I mind productivity stuff.

Not at all. In fact, I’m a big fan.

Because knowing how to work smart is awesome.

And knowing how to get the stuff done that you need to get done without losing your shit rocks muchly.

What doesn’t rock is the sometimes not-so-subtle suggestion that I should be cramming more stuff into my day.

That it’s normal. And smart. And just how things are done.

And so naturally I should want to do it this way.

And that if I don’t I’m either thick, lazy or nuts.

Oof.

Eff it
My answer to all of that?

Eff cramming.

Eff trying to jam as much busyness into my day as I can before my head explodes.

Eff falling into the trap of thinking that getting something done fast is more important than feeling good while doing it.

Eff buying into the idea that being able to rock my to-do list or blitzkrieg through my email is somehow related to my worth as a person.

Eff believing that pushing myself ‘til I puke is proof of my dedication, passion or drive.

Eff. Cramming.

Can I get a witness?
Does any of this sound familiar?

Because I keep hearing from people who are as sick of cramming as I am.

People totally over pushpushpush being their norm.

So I’m putting my foot down.

For myself. And for anyone else ughed out by cramming.

A manifesto. With bubbles. And bike rides.
I’m invoking the holy name of Joey Ramone. And summoning the powers of all things punk rock.

I say it’s time for a revolution.

A revolution of thought. And action.

A revolution of relationship. With ourselves. And our world.

A revolution not just against the idea of cramming, but a revolution in defense of space. And breathing room. And playtime.

A revolution where we are at least as dedicated to lounging around as we are to launching stuff.

Where we schedule in time to blow bubbles. Or ride a bike. Or watch the birds.

Where we regularly say to someone, Sorry, I have to get off the phone now. It’s playtime.

Where we get that adding in pockets of do-nothing-ness into our day isn’t just nice, but essential.

Where we adopt looking at clouds and listening to our favorite music in our pajamas as our new super secret strategy for productivity.

Where looking at gorgeous art or eating delicious food or hanging out in a beautiful place is how we refill and recharge for our next round of awesome.

Where it becomes not just ok, but a matter of policy, to end our work day early when we need to fill up, chill out or just veg.

Eff responsibility? Uh, no.
I’m not saying we should slack off or set fire to responsibility.

I just think it’s crazy smart to seriously cut ourselves some slack.

And to be as responsible to ourselves as we are to our clients and our inboxes and our to-do lists.

And trust me. I’m not saying that it’s easy to say eff cramming.

Simple, yes. But not easy.

I get that.

I get that life is moving faster than ever before. And that we all have plates that are piled to the ceiling with stuff to do.

And I get how easy it is to work ourselves into the ground. Whether we work for ourselves. Or someone else. It really doesn’t matter.

I get how easy it is to give in to the anxiety. That tension that hangs out just below the surface of your inner bits. Whispering in your ear about how badly things will go if you don’t keep pushing. And how taking a break, even for a second, would be career suicide.

So I totally get how scary it can be to even think about easing up.

And I also get how much you want to do your Thing. Because you love it. And it’s awesome. And you want to give it wings. And get it out there in the world.

I get all of that.

Really.

The revolution is here… and it’s embossed!
But consider this an invitation to say eff cramming.

A gold embossed invite. Printed on fancy pants paper. With a matching envelope. And a stunning likeness of Joey Ramone emblazoned across the front.

The revolution has begun.

Your presence is requested.

You are cordially invited to get off the crazy train and get back to gorgeous.

Eff cramming.

Please RSVP with a fist pump and a rousing hell yeah!

No leaping required
And if leaping headlong into eff-cramming-ness feels too scary, it’s totally ok not to leap.

Just think about leaping. Or stepping. Or even just dipping your toe in.

Any baby step you take in that direction rocks.

Because, seriously, in all of the bajillions of sound sessions that I’ve done, I’ve never ever had one single person come to me because they want to find a way to cram more work into their day.

Everyone I work with and talk to and hang out with wants more awesome in their life.

Cramming isn’t the way to make that happen.

S-p-a-c-e!
If you want more awesome to show up, you have to leave room for it. You have to give it somewhere to go. Some wide open space that it can settle into.

Think about your very favorite song in the world.

You might love the singer. Or the guitar track. Or the drums.

But what makes the song a song is the space between the notes. The gaps where every bit of gorgeousness can be heard.

Silence. Space. Breathing room.

That’s what makes the music.

A song without silence is just one big cacophony of sound.

A life without playtime and downtime and youtime is just one big pile of suck.

So I say ¡Viva la Revolución!

Care to join me?

Kind of like a Dear Abby for sound stuff.

But with less angst. More fun. And ninjas.

We can yack it up about how this sound stuff works.

Or get all geekity about instruments.

Or talk about punk rock. It’s totally up to you.

You ask. I answer. Easy-peasy.

And, if you’re really lucky, I may bust out my Barry Manilow impression on you sometime. Prepare to be wowed. Yeah, it’s that fabulous. (At the Copa, Copacabana… The hottest spot north of Havana…)

One of the fab folks who hangs out here a lot sent me this question of much smartness:

You talk about singing bowls a lot, so obviously you really like them. What’s so special about them? And how many do you have?

I heart this question.

And I’m glad you asked it.

Because now I have an excuse to get all gushy about bowls for a second.

Rawk!

Not love at first sight
You’re totally right about me loving singing bowls.

I love them almost as much as chocolate. Or pompadours. Or badly produced B-grade ninja flicks.

But the first time I heard a bowl being played I wasn’t a fan.

Like not even a little.

In fact, I pretty much thought singing bowls sucked.

Because my first experience with them was completely craptastic.

Someone was playing a bowl that just sounded bad. Like fingers-on-a-blackboard-meets-cat-whose-tail-has-just-been-stepped-on kind of bad.

Every thwack of the bowl resulted in this super suck sound that had a weird metallic, dissonant edge to it. Every muscle in my body tensed up. Immediately.

And after the five minute demo was over I had the worst headache ever. I felt like someone had just punched me right between the eyes.

So it was totally cool with me if I never saw another singing bowl ever again.

Our second date went much better
But then I heard a good bowl.

This bowl wasn’t just good. It was gorgeous.

The sound totally blew me away.

It was one of those open-mouthed-gaga’ed-can’t-find-the-words kind of things.

The bowl produced this amazing splashiness of overtones and undertones and all kinds of sexy sound-ey stuff.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

But I also couldn’t believe how good the sound felt.

Instead of wearing my shoulders as earmuffs, I got all ooh-ey goo-ey relaxed.

It was like I was getting the best massage of my whole frakking life. And I slept better that night than I had in forever.

So I realized that all singing bowls didn’t suck. And that there was a huge difference between good bowls and bad bowls.

And that second date blossomed into a full on love affair with these shiny round nuggets of awesome.

Boxes go buhbye
So why do I actually dig singing bowls so much?

(And I’m assuming I can’t just use Uh, because they’re awesome! as an answer, right?)

Ok, for starters, singing bowls are the epitome of breaking-out-of-the-boxness.

Singing bowls that aren’t really tuned to the Western musical scale. Finding a bowl that’s a perfectly tuned C or F or G or whatever is pretty unlikely.

Which is actually one of the secrets behind their awesome-osity.

Their sound is beyond all of those neat and tidy and oh-so-confining musical categories. And to really dig in to the deliciousness of their mojo, you have to let all that stuff go.

Because their sound is so much more than that.

And that’s the same kind of awesome you get when you hang out with singing bowls.

The bowls remind you that you’re way bigger than all of the little boxes that you and other people and life try to force you into everyday.

There’s more to you than that. And that more-to-you part is where the great big awesome is found. It’s where you get all snugglefaced with your mojo.

So there’s this kind of punk rock thing happening with singing bowls.

Because they help you to say eff the boxes and the categories and all the confining stuff that keeps you feeling small.

The sound of a singing bowl gives you a chance to get hip to what freedom really tastes like.

Secret passageways
That eff-the-boxes bit can also be crazy helpful when you’re staring down stuck too.

Because being stuck is a lot like being boxed into a corner. Feeling like there’s nowhere to go. And no way around the ack.

But singing bowls have this special superpower where they create openings where there were none two seconds ago.

When stuck has you cornered, the sound of a bowl opens up a secret passageway in the wall behind you.

And so when your back’s against the wall, and stuck is breathing down your neck, you can duck into the secret passageway and ditch the stuck with the quickness.

It’s that whole freedom thing again.

Which is why hanging out with singing bowls is one of the easiest and fastest ways of saying sayonara to suck.

Sleeper holds and buffets (booyah!)
I also heart singing bowls because they put our brain in time out.

Because, I mean, seriously, most of us are always thinkingthinkingthinking.

But a good bowl can put a sleeper hold on that head stuff in a few seconds flat. They’re like a taser for the monkey mind. (Minus the ouchie electric shock part.)

A few seconds of bowl-ey goodness and the mind just goes quiet.

Which is seriously awesome. And seriously helpful too.

Taking a break from the brain stuff means you actually get to relax. I can play a bowl for 10 minutes and feel like I’ve just had eight hours of the best sleep of my life.

Stress and struggle and stuck and suck just kind of melt away. And this really gorgeous relaxed-but-weirdly-focused thing slides in to take their place.

And when your brain takes a breather, other inner bits can step forward and rock the mic.

You suddenly find yourself sitting at an all-you-can-eat buffet of inspiration. Or hanging out with some ridiculously cool insight or solution.

Your creativity kicks into overdrive and starts cooking up all kinds of gorgeousness.

Or some big blocked thing in your life isn’t blocked anymore. Because you just relaxed and gave it some room to get unstuck.

And yeah, this kind of awesome can happen in just a few minutes.

Let me count the ways…
So those are three reasons why I love singing bowls like a big pile of chocolate.

1. Because they help us to break out of the box.
2. They’re rockstars at getting us unstuck.
3. They give our brain a break and give our other gorgeous inner bits a chance to rock.

And, really, that’s just a tip-of-the-iceberg rap. I could go on and on and on about this.

Because I’m a nerd. And because singing bowls really are a thousand kinds of awesome.

Oh, and to answer your question about how many I have?

64.

I actually went and counted. Because, you know, I’m dedicated like that.

Thanks for your question. And for giving me a chance to gush.

And if you’re loving all this gush-ey bowl talk, you might also dig the first installment of Sound Off where I talk about how to pick the perfect singing bowl.

What do ya wanna know?
Do you have questions about this sound stuff?
A query about one of the wild and wacky instruments that I use?
Just want to rap about something of an aural nature?

Coolness. Me too.

What are you waiting for? Get in touch.

Send me your questions. Share your musings. In the words of Information Society, tell me what’s on your mind.

Maybe your question will be included in a future Sound Off post. Which I can totally do all anonymous-like, if you want.

In case, you know, you’re enrolled in the witness protection program. Or secretly here from another planet. Or just a private-ey kind of person.

No worries. I get it.

So ask away.

You can also post your question in the comments here. That works too. Because I’m flexible like that.

One of the best things about the interwebs is that it’s filled with lots of groovy stuff.

I mean, sure, it’s also filled with lots of crap and bunches of snooze. But some stuff is so ninjarific that it just begs to be shared.

Thus the advent of the Now That’s Ninjarific series.

Now I have a place to share the awesomesauce stuff I bump into with some of my favorite people ever.

Woot! Yay! And woohoo!

Some of the aforementioned grooviness is sound stuff. Some of it’s not. All of it’s totally ninjarific. It sort of has to be to qualify for an installment of Now That’s Ninjarific, right?

Holy crap!

Has it seriously been that long since the last time I did an installment of Now That’s Ninjarific?

Sorry taters. My bad.

I’ve had all of this ninjarificness piling up all over the place.

And it’s not like I’ve been hoarding it or anything. I love to share the awesome.

It’s just that somehow the last couple of months have felt like one big fast forward. Or something.

Anyway.

Enough blabberpants. It’s time to crack open the vaults and release the monkeys let the ninjarificness flow.

Crayons. That you can eat.
I just ordered two coloring books and a heaping tower o’ crayons for my desk.

I figure this will make for a pretty fabulous way to take a break, recharge my superpowers, amp up the inspiration juice and make pretty things to hang on the fridge.

And then Luxirare goes and drops a bunch of brilliant on us with edible crayons.

Edible crayons people!

I don’t even know what to say about this.

Except booyah!

And maybe where were these when I was a kid?

Because these nuggets of genius would have been way easier on my digestive tract than those waxy Crayolas.

The ingredients for the green crayon?

Peas. Green beans. Dried kiwi. Green fruity pebbles. Dried pumpkin seeds

And these crayons aren’t just yummy. You can actually color stuff with them.

Rawk!

(Found thanks to @kirstinbutler, a constant supplier of ninjarificness. I am, in fact, thinking of changing the name of this blog-ey bit to Kirstin Does It Again. Because she rocks that much.)

Homage to Saint Morrissey
I found the music of The Smiths when I was 11. Thanks to Missy, my mustard sandwich eating neighbor who played Strangeways, Here We Come for me at the pool. And changed my world forever.

I was hooked.

Hopelessly, irretrievably hooked. It was love at first listen.

And I’ve been hanging out with the music of The Smiths and Morrissey for almost 25 years.

So when I bumped into The Smiths Project I got all weak in the knees.

What is The Smiths Project?

A musical mission by Janice to sing every Smiths song by the end of 2010. And to share it on her blog.

Here’s how this homage happened:

“This year I plan to do what I really love and concentrate on happiness that already exists in the world instead of striving for that dangling carrot of a better world tomorrow, new slender thighs, etc…

I’ve been singing these songs all my life so the only thing that changes is that I’m going to record them. Each Smiths song, in order by album, by the end of 2010.”

Right on.

But what really got me was what she said here:

“This started as an exercise in accepting myself as I am, without falling into my typical trap of making sure I sound ‘perfect’ before I let people hear my music.”

As a musician, and someone who’s working on telling perfectionism to suck it, I totally clapped out loud when I read this.

Janice is doing a gorgeous job covering the tunes. My favorite, so far, is this version of Reel Around The Fountain.

But, mostly, I just love that she’s doing what she loves. And enjoying the awesome that’s already there.

(Janice is @blackpiano on Twitter.)

Monk + Buddhism + Rapping = Awesome
Kansho Tagai is a Buddhist monk. He is, in fact, the head monk at a 400 year old temple in Tokyo.

He also raps.

Yeah, raps.
Under the name MC Happiness.

Aside from the fact that MC Happiness is the coolest name ever, this dude is brilliant.

And he totally gets the power of music to create bridges.

Tagai has given the Buddhist sutras a hip hop makeover. Which has made these sacred verses accessible to way more people.

“When I listened to rap music for the first time, it was in English so I couldn’t understand a word,” Tagai said.

“I realised that the same can be said for Buddhist sutras because most people can’t understand a word. And the thing is, listening to rap music makes you feel good even though it may be incomprehensible.”

Bridges baby!

Get all the deets on what MC Happiness is up to.

(I found this bit of awesome thanks to @lissaboles.)

Saved by singing
This story really rocked me.

Because someone’s life has pretty much been saved by singing.

Christian Ellis is a Marine. Who served in Iraq. He’s seen and experienced things I don’t even pretend to understand.

And when he came home he ran into some serious hard.

Couldn’t sleep. Flashbacks. Full on PTSD.

Great big, super deep, really dark hard.

He’s tried to commit suicide three times since he got back.

And singing has given him hope.

He’s working out the hard stuff through song.

This is the part that gave me goosebumps:

“It used to be I would never leave my place, I wouldn’t be able to sleep for three or four days at a time. Now I can sleep for three or four hours at a time, so I’m making progress, small steps, and singing helps.”

This rocks. Plain and simple.

(I got hip to this thanks to @ravendrum, who are doing some seriously amazing work of their own.)

Holy $%#@!
Sometimes I find something that just blows me away.

Like stunned-mouth-open-speechless.

This is one of those things.

There’s this five year old drummer named Jonah. And this kid rocks the Casbah.

At first I thought, Oh, a five year old drummer. This will be cute.

Then I watched this kid drop one of the biggest awesome bombs I’ve ever seen.

This. Kid. Kills. It.

Jonah tears up that drum kit. And he totally nails the song. And he’s five frakking years old!

The other cool thing?

He’s already mastered the funky drummer face thing. (It’s mandatory that you make kooky faces when you drum. It’s like a drummer’s law or something.)

Check out this video.

And hold on to your ass at the 2:45 mark. Jonah blows up!

If you want more of this awesome check out Jonah’s site.

(Thanks to @AmySeyBrown for the heads up on this one.)

Your turn
So that’s the latest offering of awesome from the super secret ninja lair.

What ninjarific stuff have you bumped into lately?

Lay it on me. I’d love to know.

Yay!

And Jen ever so kindly asked me to present at the retreat!

Double yay!

So here’s a short video of me yacking about how to find your right rhythm. And why retreating totally helps you to do that.

Rhythms & Retreats

That link you’re looking for?
It’s right here.

p.s. I’ll be spinning some extra special sound-ey stuff at this shindig!

And, seriously, it was one of my best decisions ever.

But the other day, when I looked at the list of awesome I want to rock this year, I kind of had a Scooby Doo moment.

Ruhroh Shaggy!

It’s not that the list is long. Because it really isn’t.

But it’s full.

And some of the projects are hugehugehuge.

And making this stuff happen will take time. And energy. And endless Big Gulps full of go juice.

And, yeah, I get the whole pace yourself and respect your capacity stuff. Which I’m totally down with.

But ohmygod the list is packed to the gills with gorgeous. So there’s stuff here that I really, really want to do.

It’s just that the more I looked at the list, the more I started to feel like I’d need some hardcore superpowers to make it happen.

And I figured recruiting my very own legion of superheroes was the next logical step. Because that’s how things work in my world.

Secret underground lairs
So in my head, I started cookin’ up someplace I could go to get all the good mojo I’d need to really rock this thing.

A secret underground lair. With a camouflaged door. Carved into the side of a mountain.

There would be some computer-ey contraption at the entrance. Hidden behind the bush to the right.

Which would do the obligatory retinal scan.

After which, the aforementioned ohmygod-I-didn’t-even-know-there-was-a-door-there door would automagically whoosh open.

Revealing a looooooong dark corridor. With eerie-but-somehow-strangely-pleasing lighting.

Or something like that.

Recruiting The Ramones
But the real magic of this underground lair would be the superheroes who would gather there under cover of darkness. A cabal of creative brilliance so, uh, brilliant that they’d blow your fugging mind.

I needed a group that had both hardcore and superpowers totally covered.

And it took me about two seconds to come up with the perfect recruits.

The Ramones!

Because, in my world, hardcore + superpowers = The Ramones.

Plus I’d already hired one Ramone. Why not bring the rest on board?

Because, really, the Ramones have exactly the kind of Wonder Twin powers I need right now.

Four flavors of awesomesauce
Joey was the perfect mix of heart and passion and sensitivity. He’s a great example of how an outcast can totally make it when they find their groove. And kick some serious ass in the process.

Johnny had the whole discipline thing down to a science. Yeah, sometimes he was an asshat. But the Ramones rocked hard for twenty-two years because Johnny stuck to the plan and kept them focused.

Dee Dee managed to combine this cool childlike quality with pure punk rock feistiness. He did what he wanted to do. Including recording a rap album that one critic called the worst recording in the history of music. But Dee Dee stayed true to himself.

And Tommy brought the know-how. He could handle the Gatling gun drumming the Ramones became known for. He had skilled hands. And a cool head. Which goes a long way in punk rock.

These four guys combined their superpowers to create one of the best bands of all time. They changed music. And they changed the world.

Best. Roundtable. Ever.
So when I sit down with this list of stuff I want to do this year, instead of going all Scooby Doo, I’ll beat feet to the imaginary underground lair and have a roundtable with the Ramones. In my head.

Joey will keep me connected to the heart of what I’m doing. And why I’m doing it. Which will keep me in my groove.

Johnny will help me stay focused when I start to drift.

Dee Dee will remind me to be true to the task and do what I really want to do with it.

And Tommy can school me the skills needed to make it happen. And help me to keep my cool while doing it.

The Ramones. And me. In a secret underground lair. Filling me up with their smartness. Helping me rock the awesome.

Is it just me or does that sound all kinds of perfect?

Future recruits? Oh yeah.
And this legion of mucho mojo is just getting started.

There are already other peeps I want to invite into the Fortress of Fabulous.

Like Lady Gaga, Boy George, Inspector Gadget and Chaka Khan for starters.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

So now you know the superheroes I’m hanging out with.

If you could assemble your own legion of superheroes, who would you pick?

People who would act as your life coach. Or business advisor. Or spiritual advisor. Or cheerleader. Or a general bringer-of-the-awesome.

It doesn’t have to be rockstars. Or even anyone famous.

But it can be.

It can be anyone you want, really.

Who are your superheroes?
What superpowers do they bring you?

Because pretty much everybody that comes to me for sound-ey stuff wants the same thing.

To turn the volume up on the awesome in their life.

Yeah, one person may be crazy stuck and want help shifting it.

And another person might be knee deep in struggle and totally over it.

And someone else could be trying to get some gorgeous going and looking for some extra juice to make it happen.

But, really, at the end of the day, it all comes down to one thing.

Making life more fabulous.

Which is rad. Because sound is a rockstar at making that happen.

Cue the rogue ninjas
But this brings us back to the story thing for a second.

Because the stories you hang out with have a huge impact on your ability to amp up the awesome.

Helpful stories feed the awesome. Unhelpful stories starve it.

That sounds kind of duh, right?

And it totally is.

But most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about the stories they’re hanging out with. It’s not even on their radar.

So all the unhelpful stuff just hides out. Like a band of rogue ninjas killing off all the awesome.

Which is all kinds of sucktastic.

Curiouser and curiouser
Getting curious about your stories can be crazy helpful.

Just recognizing that these stories even exist is a huge start.

Because once you get that you have stories you can zoom in for a closer look.

And chances are there are some unhelpful ones lurking somewhere in there.

They might be cluttering up your soul’s couch (if your soul had a couch). Or causing gaps in your rhythm. Or just making your stuck that much more suck.

So being curious about helps you to figure out what’s shakin’.

Don’t panic!
And I so get that finding out you’ve been hanging out with ugh stories can be a huge bummer.

But don’t panic. It’s not just you.

Pretty much everyone I know has some kind of totally-not-helpful story hanging out somewhere in their landscape.

Because, seriously, it’s not hard to pick up stories that suck.

We can get them from our family. And our friends. And our love interests. And our teachers. And our coaches. And our bosses. And the TV. And the internet.

And… And… And…

It’s not like unhelpful stories are in short supply.

Nuggets of suck
And the weird thing about these stories is that we can hang out with them for so long that we don’t even notice them anymore.

These nuggets of suck just sort of s-l-o-w-l-y blend into the landscape.

We don’t forget that they’re there. We just assume they belong there. Because, you know, they’ve been there forever.

So we just accept whatever kind of blech stuff they’re spinning as the way things are.

Or the way life is.

Or the way we are.

Lies! All lies!
But that’s totally not true.

Because you are not your stories.

Can I say that again?

You. Are Not. Your Stories.

All that stuff that says you’re broken. Or not worth it. Or that no one could really love you.

Or that you don’t matter. Or that you don’t deserve awesome. Or that it’s selfish to even want awesome.

Or that you’ll always be as stuck as you are right now. Or that you screw everything up. So you’ll always screw everything up. So you might as well not even try.

Those are stories.

Big steaming piles of suck that have faded into your landscape. And totally made themselves at home.

But they’re not true.

And they’re not you.

And you don’t have to keep hanging out with these puketastic ambassadors of ack.

Holy doppelgangers Batman!
Getting hip to these devious doppelgangers rocks.

Because then you can look at your stories with a more conscious, critical eye.

You can get to the bottom of what’s really going on. And see that the static is coming from the stories. Not from you.

But knowing how to handle these stories during the getting-to-the-bottom-of-it bit is super helpful. Because stories can be slippery. And sneaky. And subtle.

Story handling tip #1
You don’t have to try to sort out whether the story is true or not.

Because every sucktastic story will swear it’s totally true. And then try to pelt you with a bazillion different reasons to prove it.

So it’s kind of a waste of time and energy to even go there. And going there can be ouch-ey.

Story handling tip #2
You also don’t have to get into divvying up your stories into piles of good and bad.

Because that just creates all kinds of fracturing of your inner bits. Which is totally not helpful.

Plus if you bump into some bad stories, it’s easy to start feeling like you’re full of gack.

Which just creates another story.

Which kind of defeats the whole point of this thing.

Story handling tip #3
Learning how to skillfully survey your stories comes down to one super simple, crazy important question.

Is this story helpful or unhelpful?

Not true or untrue.
Not good or bad.
But helpful or unhelpful.

And the answer to that question tells you everything you need to know about the story. And whether or not to let it keep lounging on your inner couch-ey thing.

Story handling tip #4
When you decide to boot out stories that suck, it’s important to snag a new awesomer story to take the old one’s place.

Otherwise the old story may try to reclaim its place on the couch.

But if it finds another story hanging out where it used to hang out, it’ll realize that it’s pretty much S.O.L.

And the new story can be whatever you want it to be.

If the old story said that you aren’t ok then the new story could be you are a million kinds of fabulous.

Or if the blech story said you were too tall or too big or too sensitive or too whatever, the new story might be that you’re absolutely, completely, totally purrfect.

Bonus tip: Baby steps
And if that feels like too huge of a leap, make the new story something smaller.

If your old story kept rattling on about you being broken, your new story can be that you’re not broken.

Then when that feels comfortable, get a new new story that says you’re ok. And then another new story that says you’re awesome. And then another new story that says you’re oh-my-god gorgeous.

You get the idea.

Baby stepping it with the new stories is totally ok.

Do what works.

Why bother?
Why does this story stuff even matter?

Because the stories you carry shape your life in huge ways.

They influence your ability to believe in yourself. And to see how much you rock. And to do your thing. And to live a life that’s blowing up with awesome.

I have seen hundreds and hundreds of people show up with stuck that was rooted in stories that sucked.

And after the sound-ey stuff worked its magic, one person after another dropped their sucktastic stories and snagged some gorgeous ones.

And their lives totally changed.

Sometimes immediately. Sometimes over time.

But letting go of the suck made more room for the awesome.

And that’s ultimately what it’s all about.

How are the stories you’re hanging out with affecting you?

Yay!

This is the time of year when there’s tons o’ talk about resolutions. And goals. And stuff of much awesomeness to make happen in 2010.

Everywhere you look everyone seems totally stoked. And totally ready to rock.

Which is awesome.

Except that sometimes this totally-stoked-and-ready-to-rock thing is like a sugar high.

Super charged.
Short lived.
Fabulous at the time.
And seriously crappy when you crash.

The first few weeks of January everyone’s hocked up on newness and possibilities and potential.

And before January 31st rolls around, half the resolutions have flopped. The goals have gotten fuzzy. And folks are feeling like a big failure.

Suck.

How can you start off with such a bang and then fizzle out so frakking fast?

When a bang becomes a fizzle fo’shizzle
It’s great that the new year brings all kinds of chatter about fresh starts and new fabulousness and snagging as much gorgeousness as you can stand.

Because I’m all about an all-you-can-eat buffet of gorgeous.

But I don’t see a lot of talk about how to get this gorgeousness to show up.

You know, like how to make it actually happen.

The truth is it takes way more than lists and sugar highs to get cozy with gorgeousness.

And an intravenous shot of discipline isn’t the answer either.

(Which means you can totally stop kicking yourself for not having enough discipline. That’s so not the problem.)

Rockstars! Dude!
If you want to rock, you have to hang out with rockstars.

And when you’re trying to get a firm grasp on some make-it-happen mojo, there are four key ingredients that you totally can’t do without.

• Alignment
• Connection
• Resonance
• Expression

It starts by getting clear on what you want.

When you hop into your car, you know where you’re going. Which is the first step to getting there, right?

So to make stuff happen you have to figure out what stuff you want to make happen.

This is where the making-of-fabulous-lists and setting-of-gorgeous-goals comes in.

It helps you to get clear about what you want. To get all lined with up with your particular flavor of fabulousness.

Which is rad.

But that’s just the first step.

And if that clarity isn’t plugged into some major mojo, you’re not going to get much mileage out of it.

You can sit in the car all day and think about going to the store. But you have to give it some gas to get moving.

Gas it
Once you’re clear about what kind of awesome you want, it’s uber important to get all of you on the same page.

And by all of you I mean we’re-complex-creatures-with-many-inner-bits-and-bobs.

We have thoughts. And feelings. And fears. And body stuff. And relationship stuff. And life stuff. And soul stuff.

And at any given moment all of these various and sundry bits can be moving in totally different directions. Which is all kinds of not helpful when you’re trying to make something happen.

It’s like having seven people with totally different destinations in mind fighting to steer the car.

Yeah, good luck with that.

So the connection part of the equation is where we check in with all the facets of who we are.

To make sure they know what we’re doing. And what kind of awesome we want. And are totally down with the plan.

Which is pretty much essential if we want to rock this thing.

Tight chest. Might puke. Oof.
Let’s pretend that you wanted to get your particular flavor of awesome out into the world. And that was one of your goals for 2010.

But your head is filled with you-can’t-do-this-cuz-your-thing-sucks blechness.

Which shows up because that one time, in fourth grade, when you showed your art project/essay/fill-in-the-blank to the teacher she told you it sucked.

And you felt crazy embarrassed. And totally sorry you showed her.

And now when you think about putting your thing out there, your chest gets tight. And you feel like you’re totally going to puke.

So, yeah, the goal of getting your awesome out there is delicious. But it can also sound all kinds of alarms at all kinds of other levels.

Alarms that look a lot like resistance and struggle and procrastination and self-sabotage and running for the door as fast as your legs will carry you.

Good times.

But you can work with these inner bits and get them totally on board with your plans for much awesomeness in 2010.

And when they’re on board, they stop resisting. And plug in. And totally become cheerleaders for the kind of awesome you’re after.

It’s like all your bits and bobs hit the gas at the same time.

Because they’re all hanging out in a  sweet state of on-board-with-this-ness.

Woot!

You’re half way there. But there’s more.

Surf’s up
So being clear and on the same page rocks lots.

But one of the big walls people hit is not being able to keep their foot on the gas long enough to get where they want to go.

Because making awesome happen can take some time. Especially if you’re shifting big stuff in the process.

So being able to keep stuff moving is super important.

That’s where resonance comes in.

Think about the special brand of gorgeousness you’re hot for.

And imagine that gorgeousness is like a song.

When you get to the point where you’re all about it, you’re humming that song. A lot. Like pretty much all the time.

No matter what you’re doing.
Or where you’re at.
Or what’s happening.

Every nook and cranny of you is filled with the fabulousness you want.

You’re singing it. It’s singing you.

That’s resonance.

And that’s crazy important.

Because resonance is what gets you out of first gear and pushes the pedal to the proverbial metal. And it’s what helps you maintain your momentum.

Resonance is some pretty special mojo. It makes stuff happen. And opens doors. And magnetizes fabulousness.

It takes you way beyond being clear about it. And wanting it. And moving in its general direction.

And it does way more than big piles of discipline or focus ever could.

Resonance is like a wave. Which you can totally surf straight to your desired destination.

When you catch that wave, that’s when big stuff starts happening. That’s when you’re this close to having the awesome that you want.

That’s what being all about it is all about.

Piping hot awesomesauce
So you’re clear. And plugged in. And all about it.

What’s next?

Expression!

Which is just a fancy pants way of saying one piping hot plate of awesomesauce comin’ right up!

Stuff shifts. The fabulous that you want shows up. And life gets a thousand times more gorgeous.

*happydancehappydancehappydance*

The three previous ingredients were totally necessary to get to this point.

If any one of them starts to slack off, or goes missing, it gets way harder to hang out with the gorgeousness you’ve had your eye on.

But when you rock all three of these things?

Success is pretty much guaranteed.

And that’s one of about a billion reasons that I dig this sound-ey stuff so much. Because sound is the fastest way I’ve found to fill up on all four of these makers-of-much-awesome.

I’ve seen it happen again and again and again.

With me. With friends. With clients.

They have something they want.

They snag a sound session. Which gets them lined up, plugged in and all about it.

Their stuck shifts. Gorgeousness arrives. And it all happens crazy fast.

Because these four secret ingredients give you some seriously superpower-ey mojo.

Faster than speeding stuck.
More powerful than any struggle-ey stuff.
And able to leap tall obstacles in a single bound.

So happy 2010.

Here’s to you being full of more fabulous than you could ever possibly imagine.

Wow.

I mean, seriously.

Wow.

You’ve totally blown me away. Not just because somehow it’s already December. But because you’ve managed to pack a ton of awesome into the last twelve months.

Don’t get me wrong. There was some stuff that sucked.

Like watching Mom get older. And have a hard time dancing on Thursdays. Or keeping up her yard in the summer. And seeing how overwhelmed she felt.

Or missing Dad. Like crazy. All the time. Especially when the site launched. Because I totally wanted him to see it. And be able to celebrate with me.

And speaking of the site, it sucked being crazy stuck around all things site related in January. And February. Oh, and in March and April too.

Or feeling totally terrified about starting a blog. And being pretty sure I’d be a miserable failure at it.

Or just about crashing and burning because I was working way too much. And totally not taking care of myself.

Yeah, that sucked.

But there’s been way more awesome than suck.

I was able to get a studio set up.

A studio! Of my very own!

Woot!

You know about the studio I had years ago, right? The one that went buhbye when a bunch of suck happened?

Yeah, that was a huge ouch.

So having another studio has been a big dream. For like 14 or 15 years or something.

And it totally happened this year.

It still feels kind of surreal. But I lovelovelove that space so much.

And after a long, painful, weird and wonderful ordeal, my website was finally finished.

Like all done. Ready to roll. 3-2-1 liftoff!

It launched its gorgeous self into the world on July 4th. Which felt like a totally perfect day to set it off. Like a big boom-ey bunch of fireworks. Or something.

Oh, and I actually got to see Krishna Das in April.

Twice.

(Who knew he’d ever come to Cincinnati or Indianapolis?)

Both times were even more fabulous and amazing and powerful than I imagined.

Meeting him was awesome too. Even if I got all blarghedey mouthed and stumbled over my words. Both times.

And as for the meeting people thing, I met some of the most fabulous people ever during 2009.

There’s no way I can list them all here. Because that would make this like a bazillion pages long.

So I’ve committed to just talking about five six seven eight people of much awesomeness.

Like Havi (@havi). Who created the perfect incubator for awesome with her Kitchen Table program. I was pretty sure a group this fabulous couldn’t possibly exist. Havi proved me wrong. And hanging with these cats has been life changing. Plus Havi has a duck. Who is a rockstar. Duck love forever!

Or Naomi (@IttyBiz). Who I adore for having a huge heart and a close personal relationship with the f word. She is also pretty much a genius. At marketing. And other stuff. She also has a shaved head. And she’s given me crazy support and all kinds of brilliant advice. Naomi just drips with smartness. And she raised enough money to build a school. In Cambodia. In 24 hours.

Or Mark (@MarkHeartofBiz). Who has managed to marry marketing and spirituality in a way that rocked my world. I was in the middle of writing stuff for my site when I bumped into his stuff. I scrapped it all because what Mark was spinning made so much sense. He’s also a Sufi. Who plays Frisbee. And eats carob. (I don’t hold the carob thing against him though.)

Or Jen (@jenlouden). Who is the epitome of comfort and support and down-to-earth awesomeness. She writes books of much gorgeousness. And leads retreats. And has a whole corner of the interwebs devoted to comfort! (You can totally take a break to happy dance, if you want.) And when she asked me to be a part of her virtual retreat, I ran around the house in circles. Clapping. For three whole days. Jen is pure, unadulterated fabulousness.

Or Charlie (@CharlieGilkey). Who worked his mojo to get me unassed enough to actually make my website happen. That’s what convinced me that Charlie is secretly a magician. He blows me away with how his brain works. And how he makes productivity something real and awesome and doable. Charlie is one of the smartest people I know. And he’s totally my go-to guy for making stuff happen.

Or Molly (@shaboom). Who first caught my eye with her marketing smartness. And the way she dishes up piping hot support for us entrepreneurial types. One of the things I dig most about Molly is that she nudges people to stretch, to make room for maximum gorgeousness in their life. The world needs more people like this.

Or Hiro (@HiroBoga). Who totally helped when my energy was all knotted up around the website stuff. Which rocked. Because even though I spend my days helping people get unstuck, sometimes you can’t use your own superpowers on yourself. And Hiro helped shift some stuck and get things cookin’ again.

Or Sparkyfirepants (@sparkyfirepants). Whose real name is David. But who I call Mr. Pants in my head thanks to Havi. He is one of the nicest guys around. And he births ninjas. Well, he does the most awesome illustration work ever. And he whipped up the coolest custom ninja for me. (Who is about to be unleashed on the world berry berry soon. Yay!)

Have I used up my eight spots already?

Aw crap.

Are you sure I don’t have more room?

Because if I did, I’d totally talk about Lisa and Leonie and Julie and Chris.

And Joyce and Nathan and Kate.

And Leah and Jamie and Bridget and Koren.

And Cairene and Natalie and Gina and Deborah.

And Kirstin and Tim and Sarah.

And Hayden and Jen and Sarah.

And Laurie and Stacey and Pam and Michele.

And Wulfie and Suzanne and Toby.

And about 100 other people.

Really.

(Can you tell how much I seriously suck at trying to narrow the List Of Awesome People I Dig down?)

And then there’s all of the gorgeous people who have been hanging out on my blog.

The people who I appreciate like crazy. Because I was worried that my blog would debut to the sound of crickets.

But folks showed up!

And not only have they shown up, but they brought smart stuff and gorgeous stuff and funny stuff and personal stuff.

And I am completely, crazy, over-the-moon grateful to every single one of them. Thankyouthankyouthankyou!

And if we’re talking about fabulous people who have rocked my world, I have heaps of thank yous to pass around to my clients.

Not just because I’ve gotten to meet some of the bravest and most amazing people ever. And watch them shift insane amounts of stuck in record time. And see their lives get way more awesome.

But because every single person I’ve worked with has totally been a teacher for me.

Like the couple who reminded me how important right rhythms are in relationships. And how things can get gorgeous again when you find that rhythm.

Or the deaf client. Who saw the sound that I was playing. And completely blew my mind. And taught me so much about how sound really works.

Or the lady who was absolutely terrified of planes. Who avoided them for like 20 years. And who has been on like five trips since our session and sends me postcards every time. And who taught me that even great big gigantic fear doesn’t have to be forever.

Or the artist who had big stuck around finishing her dissertation. And who so totally rocked it that I didn’t know whether to clap or get teary eyed. (I did both.) She showed me what kind of awesome happens when you find your voice.

Or the lady who had been stuck and struggling for almost 50 years. Who felt like nothing ever helped. And who saw stuff shift so fast that now she has hope that life can be fabulous. She reminded me of how sound really is a rockstar at handling huge stuff. And how there’s always reason to hope.

Or… or… or…

I could write about every single client.

Seriously.

Because every one of them has inspired me in some way. I don’t mean that in the cheesy buzzword-ey way. But in the you-so-totally-rock-the-Casbah way.

And just the fact that they showed up. And trusted me enough to share their big stuck and deep pain and gorgeous dreams. I am so totally touched that I barely have the words.

And ohmygod I have learned so much this year.

I learned that sometimes saying eff the odds is the best thing to do. Sometimes it’s the only thing to do.

I learned that punk rock can cure perfectionism.

I learned that music really does save lives. (If you haven’t read the comments on this one, you totally have to.)

And I learned about the power of being around fabulous people. And how that kind of connection is really where the mojo is. And how that mojo makes way more gorgeous happen than you can ever imagine.

I am so totally grateful for everyone I met in 2009.

And how, yeah, there was some suck. But there was so much more awesome.

Can I just tell you how much I love that?

Thanks 2009.

Here’s to even more gorgeousness in 2010.

Big love,
Fabeku

CD? Talisman? Both.

So the other day I was on the twitters chatting with the fabulous Hayden. (She’s @haydentompkins. Check her out. She rocks.)

We were yacking about music. And how big and gorgeous and powerful and vital it is.

I said that music saved my life. And she asked me if I’d be up for saying a little more about that.

So here I am.

Now I get that the whole music-saved-my-life thing is a big statement. And it also sounds kind of cliché. But it’s also totally true.

Music has been a big thing for me since pretty much forever.

And there have been so many times in my life where music helped me get through great big scary stuff.

Sometimes music was the only thing that got me through. It was the lifeline I needed to hang on.

Like when I was homeless.

A double shot of suck
Rewind to about fourteen years ago. When two hugely sucktastic things happened within a few days.

Sucktastic thing #1: I got kicked out of where I was living. With no notice.

Sucktastic thing #2: My fiancé unexpectedly called things off a couple of months before the wedding.

So between the break up and being booted out, I had nowhere to go.

I had a job, but no savings.

And now I had no address. Which made getting an apartment all kinds of hard.

Cars. Police. Crazy people.
For the first few days I slept in my car.

But finding a place to park at night was a thousand kinds of complicated.

When I parked in the safe neighborhoods, people would call the police about a strange car parked on their street.

And when I parked in the not-so-safe neighborhoods, I’d stay up all night to make sure no one tried to break into the car.

Clearly, the car thing was a bad plan.

So I snagged a room in a seedy little motel. This place was straight out of the movies.

Bullet holes in the walls.

A shower that never worked.

An owner that would randomly bust through the door in the middle of the night screaming about not being paid. Even though I totally paid him the day before.

Bad plan #2.

Is that blood?
So I looked in the paper for rooms to rent.

Room #1 was basically a crack-house-for-rent kind of deal.

My room was about six by six. It had a chair and a bed in it.

Well, kind of.

The “bed” consisted of a broken box spring. And a mattress that had – get this – blood stains on it.

So I slept on the floor.

And since the only lock on the door was a padlock that locked from the outside – brilliant! – I shoved the chair and what few things I had against the door at night.

Because, you know, a boombox, four CDs, three books and six t-shirts made it practically a fortress.

Enter screaming guy
The guy in the room next to me screamed a lot. Sometimes at the guy down the hall. But usually at people who weren’t really there. And usually in the middle of the night.

Night number two saw Screaming Guy and Upstairs Guy coming to blows in the hall. Right outside my room.

And during night number six someone got shot. Right outside my window.

I spent the rest of that night crying and throwing up into a fast food bag.

There was no night number seven there. I went back to sleeping in my car until my next paycheck.

Then I found room #2.

Which was not in a crack house. And the mattress was refreshingly free of blood stains. But it was in a house full of so much weirdness that I can’t really talk about it. Even now.

I stayed for six days. And then moved out in the middle of the night.

Too. Much. Weirdness.

Anchors and stuff
But here’s the one constant thing throughout the whole craptastic experience.

I was always listening to music.
The music was like an anchor for me.

When I was sleeping in my car I listened to CDs on one of those old school portable CD players. That thing ate batteries like crazy. But I didn’t care.

I’d spend whatever cash I had on more batteries. So I could keep the music going. If I had money left over, I’d grab a burger or something. But batteries were the priority.

And when I checked out the creepy hotel room and crazy room #1 and crazy room #2, the first thing I looked for was a plug.

Could I plug in my stereo?

I even asked the guy who owned the crack house if the one outlet in the room worked. He looked at me like I was nuts. But I had to know.

Because being able to listen to music was the only thing that kept me from totally losing my shit.

Staying sane
I only had a few CDs with me. But the one I listened to constantly was The Soul Cages by Sting. I was spinning that non-stop.

It was the only way I could sleep at night.

And it would keep me from freaking out when I woke up in the morning.

Yeah, I may have been sleeping in my car or in a crack house or smack dab in the middle of serious weirdness.

But I woke up to music.
And that kept me sane.

The song that really stuck out from that disc was When The Angels Fall.

Especially this part:

So high above the world tonight,
The angels watch us sleeping,
And underneath a bridge of stars,
We dream in safety’s keeping,
But perhaps the dream is dreaming us,
Soaring with the seagulls,
Perhaps the dream is dreaming us,
Astride the backs of eagles.

Somehow this felt like a prayer.

That I was being watched over. That somehow this craziness would stop soon. That everything really would be ok.

And pretty soon it was.

Shiny round talismans
I got so much comfort from that CD. It was like a security blanket for my soul.

It made the hard less hard. And the scary less scary.

The music let me create my own space when I felt like I was living in the middle of a crazy scary alien landscape. There was room for me in the music.

And it kept me from feeling totally alone.

So, yeah, those songs saved my life.

Even though I can barely listen to The Soul Cages now. It just brings back so many of the ack! details from that time.

The hard. And the scary. And the pain.

So I never really listen to it anymore.

But I still have this CD. The same copy I had back then.

In a weird way, it feels like a talisman or something.

It got me through a really rough time. It kept me together. It gave me hope.

And I’m really, really thankful for that.

Your turn por favor
What songs have helped you through the hard and the scary and the ack?

Talk to me. Leave a note. Let me know.

The inimitable Joey Ramone

My name is Fabeku. And I’m a perfectionist.

Well, recovering perfectionist.

At least most days I’m recovering. It’s a process.

I’ve been a perfectionist for as long as I can remember.

I’m pretty sure I picked up this brutal method of self-torture way of doing stuff when I was a little kid.

It all started with a report card. And it went a little something like this.

Me: Hey Mom, I got an A in science! Woohoo!
Mom: You only got an A?
Me: Wha?! What do you mean?
Mom: An A isn’t the same thing as an A+.

Cue the craptastic.

Mantras that suck
An A isn’t the same thing as an A+.

Oy.

This rang me like a bell. And it reverberated in my head like a fugging mantra for over 25 years.

Everything I did had to be A+.

All the time. No matter what. No exceptions.

Failure wasn’t an option. And anything less than perfect was a failure.

Because if what I did wasn’t perfect, I’d not only fail miserably. I’d let everyone down. And they’d be disappointed. Or pissed. Or both.

The letting people down part was way worse than the failing miserably part.

So by the age of seven, I figured out that being perfect wasn’t optional. The rub is that when you’re seven you don’t get that being perfect is impossible.

But anytime I did something – a big something, a small something, it didn’t matter – it had to be absolutely perfect.

It always felt like a matter of life and death.

Of course, I’ve never expected anyone else to be perfect.

I’ve always been the first one to pick someone up when they trip, to dust them off and tell them not to sweat it. So everybody has always had a ton of room to fall down.

Everybody but me.

Pretty close to puking
So every quarter, when report cards were about come out, I wouldn’t sleep for three days.

I’d lie awake in bed, sweating bullets, trying to figure out how to explain why I only got an A- in English or a B+ in history.

I’d almost throw up on myself before making the long walk downstairs to hand my report card to the parental units.

And the whole not-sleeping-for-days-and-sweating-bullets-and-almost-throwing-up-on-myself bit has followed me into adulthood. And by followed I mean chased me like a banshee on crack.

It took me over a year to put this website together.

Not just because it was a huge project. But because I felt like it had to be – wait for it – perfect.

And I freaked out trying to get everything arranged perfectly in my head before I’d even let myself get started. Which meant that it took me nine months to actually dig in and start doing it.

From woohoo to screw it in less than two hours
While I was working on the site, I was also recording my first sacred sound CD. (Because, you know, apparently one huge, demanding project wasn’t enough.)

So I booked some time at a local recording studio, hauled all my gear in and did my thing.

It was a ton of work. And a ton of money.

When it was all finished, I was so stoked to get home and listen to the final mix. I threw the CD in the stereo, totally ready to hear this thing.

The first minute or so… not too bad.

Then I started to notice this thing. And that thing. And how I should have played that bowl louder there. Or played that other bowl softer here.

The final mix was still warm in my hands. But within two hours of getting the CD, I decided to shelve it. To not release it. To scrap it altogether.

So, yeah, I’ve rocked this perfectionist thing pretty hard.

And then one day I had a revelation. An insight. An epiphany even.

And it happened while listening to the Ramones.

The Revelation of St. Joey
So I’m listening to Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment, playing air guitar and making funny punk faces.

Then it hits me.

I love the Ramones.

Lovelovelove them.

I’m crazy about punk in general. I’ve listened to it for 20 years. And I still listen to it every frakking day.

So me loving the Ramones isn’t the ah-ha! moment.

The revelation is that punk is so far from perfect. It’s kind of the antithesis of perfect.

Let’s face it. Joey Ramone wasn’t the world’s best singer.

Sid Vicious could barely play the bass. And most old school punk guitarists were practically a virtuoso if they knew three whole chords.

And punk still kicks a ton of ass.

Talkin’ ‘bout a revolution
Not only does punk kick ass. It started a revolution. And it changed music as we know it.

Punk was visionary. And powerful. And life-changing.

It inspired millions of people. And gave birth to a whole subculture. And sent music spiraling off into a wild new direction.

None of that would have ever happened if the progenitors of punk had waited to be perfect before unleashing their awesome.

If Joey, Dee Dee, Johnny and Tommy kept hiding in the studio polishing their stuff, their music would never have seen the light of day.

But they didn’t do that.

They grabbed their mics and their drumsticks and their three chords, and they blew them up. They snarled their way through two minute tunes, carried more by passion than skill.

That passion started a movement. And changed the world.

Piss off perfectionism
I’ve tripped over the perfectionism thing a lot. Like more times than I can count.

So many times I’ve gotten so close to the finish line, but stopped short because I felt like whatever I was doing wasn’t an A+.

It didn’t matter that it was a solid A. Or that I really, really wanted to share it. Or that a hundred other people thought it rocked.

If it wasn’t perfect, I’d scrap it.

I used to tell myself that this was about quality control. About making sure I wasn’t churning out crap.

But that’s not true.

I mean, obviously I don’t want to churn out crap.

But really I’ve spent my life being scared of letting people down. And terrified of failing in front of an audience.

So not doing something that didn’t seem like a slam dunk was way better than being slammed for doing it.

But I’m over it. Or I’m getting over it.

I’m taking my lead from Joey Ramone. Because he did his thing – his powerful, kick ass, change-the-frakking-world thing.

He didn’t get hung up on perfect. And so he got to be awesome.

Oh, and that CD that I shelved?

You can download it now. For free.

Because I’m telling perfectionism to piss off.