The Grand Adventure

This is a piece I wrote for Long Beach Magazine. It was published in the January 2010 issue.

A few years back, sitting in the kitchen of a beautiful guest house just outside of Christchurch, New Zealand, I came face to face with some surprising truths about myself.  My husband and I were six days into a three-week visit, and we had fallen in love with the country. Sure, we’d spent the first two days highly suspicious of the extreme kindness we found everywhere, but once our suspicion wore off, we were able to properly focus on the gorgeous sights, rich culture and genuine hospitality that surrounded us.

I pride myself on being a good traveler. My father worked for the airlines when I was growing up, and trips were plentiful. We rode standby most of the time, which meant arriving at LAX knowing that we might not be actually leaving for several hours; sometimes we even had to go back home and try again the next day. No big deal. My parents taught my brother and me to see travel (life, really) as a grand adventure: things may not go the way you’d imagined, and that’s okay. I have many fond memories of the four of us running from terminal to terminal at top speed, laughing uncontrollably; of getting lost while walking around London and being warned by a local that continuing on that street would surely lead to our getting shot (oops); of having to track down, all over Madrid, a certain brand of popsicle my younger brother quickly became attached to; of sneaking contraband food into our hotel room in Rome for the sake of saving a few lire. Grand adventure, indeed.

But it had been years since I’d done any real traveling, and what is exciting as a child can be challenging as an adult. The majority of our trip to New Zealand consisted of a self-guided driving tour, made ever-so-slightly terrifying by the drive-on-the-left, sit-on-the-right driving practices. We spent many long hours on the road, and slept in a new place every other night; sometimes every night.

A journal entry from that trip reads: It’s been not quite a week and we’ve seen so much, so many different landscapes and people and places, sounds and smells. Bit overwhelming, really, at this stage. Constant traveling can be hard work, especially for two people who hold [the concept of] Home at such a high premium… I told R. when we started the journey (or maybe before) that traveling to other countries makes you really take stock of who and what you are; your shortcomings, strengths, boundaries, comfort levels. You grow so much, I told him. My own boundaries have become all too evident, and they are hard to face…I need the upper hand in every situation more than I am comfortable admitting. I am impatient, and short-fused. I blame.  …Am exhausted from so many days of driving, taking in scenery and information, figuring out directions, meeting new people, guessing at etiquette, etc.

It was surprising to find that, in concert with the thrill of experiencing a new country I’d wanted very much to visit, one I found delightful at every turn, I was also experiencing a brand-new level of discomfort. I hadn’t realized until then how very pronounced my reliance is on a certain order and certain types of knowledge. Being in a new place day after day means that you never know where your next meal is coming from. It means repeatedly having to track down the restroom. And, if you’re driving, it means not really knowing where you’re going, even though you have directions and lodging and all of that. And if you’re traveling with a partner, you can also expect tensions to crop up, multiply, cause disturbances—particularly on long trips, particularly in a different country.  All of which can put a strain on things.

To what extent do we define ourselves by our arbitrary situations and conveniences? The answer, for me, was eye-opening. Without those things, evidently, I am less patient, less kind, less generous (and that’s a generous description, to be sure!).  But in the uncomfortable examination of those ideas, I was able to move past them. I did my best to become an observer of my gut reactions, and to avoid being led by them. That in itself went a long way toward easing the interpersonal tensions inevitable on a long trip; but it also allowed me to be more patient with myself. And then a funny thing happened. As I got more comfortable with the idea that I was really not as unflappable a traveler as I’d thought, I also got more comfortable with not being entirely comfortable—and that, in turn, helped me to give up the struggle and just enjoy myself, regardless of the situation.

Lessons learned on the road translate well to all other aspects of life. On the road, we are perhaps our truest selves. We can’t hide behind our schedules, our laundry, our social commitments while we’re in motion. In our daily lives we’ve worked to eliminate as much of the unknown as possible, thus removing an entire set of circumstances that test our mettle. And so, often, our truest selves are different from our daily selves. Is that a bad thing? Maybe not. Many people never take that test. But for the bold, travel is a test like no other, and the benefits can be life-changing. Of that much, I’m certain.

The Biggest Reason I Love Social Media

It’s not because social media has been the most important factor in building my business. (Although it has.)

It’s not because it levels the playing field in so many ways. (Although it does.)

And it’s not because I’m now very much in touch with the quotidian habits of people I have not seen in twenty-five  years. (It is definitely not that.)

The biggest reason I love social media so much? Because it’s okay to be affectionate.

Yeah, that’s right. Because I can tell people I admire that I think they’re great. Because I can tell people I love that I love them, and it’s not weird. (Or at least no one has called me on it.)

I’m very touchy-feely by nature. I tell my husband and kid I love them roughly eighty times a day. (I’ve never actually counted, but I say it a lot.) I’m a hugger. A cuddler. A kisser. I pat arms and heads. But only when I have no fear of being rebuffed; otherwise I’m an ice queen.

Lots of everyday things are just amazing to me, and I like to point them out. Particularly when those things are people. But it often freaks people out, in person. And sometimes it’s misinterpreted (you can’t really hug everybody, as it turns out). And yet. Online, I can yell, “I LOVE YOU!” when someone I know says something particularly witty or inspiring. I can leave a note on a blog belonging to someone on the other side of the world, letting them know that I think that person is lovely and wise and wonderful and makes the world a better place.

Why is that? Is it because it’s text, as opposed to real-time flesh and blood, and therefore less confrontational? Is it because online we have to rely on words alone, as opposed to all of the visual/socioeconomic/sexual/etc. signals that we flash at each other all day long? Maybe a combination of the two–maybe also a million other reasons, to boot.

There’s a side effect to this thing, though. I’m becoming less and less afraid of being rebuffed. Which is to say: I’m more and more affectionate in real life. I’ve all but stopped worrying that people will think I’m weird or too forward or needy (and trust me: I am all of those things). Because I work from home, because Twitter is my co-worker, I’m immersed for much of the day in a culture where building people up is–o, the humanity!–the norm. (I know! What?!) And because of it, I don’t stop to think anymore before lavishing my love upon the people I run into.

Oh, I know it sounds a bit like a cheesy inspirational novel (Twitter Emboldened Me: An Awakening of Love). But you know what? Life is like that sometimes. I’m okay with it.

Also? I LOVE YOU! You are really awesome.

My Co-Workers: You, You, and YOU.

A few weeks ago, my friend Stacy put words to something I’d been thinking about for some time. Appropriately, she said it via Twitter: “…twitter is like the watercooler for the self-employed.” Of course! I thought. That’s exactly what it is. Since I am self-employed, I see very few other humans during an average workday, and while I generally consider that one of the perks of this gig, it can get lonely from time to time.

But social media gives me that hit of humanity, just enough to make me feel like I’m not the tree in the forest that didn’t really fall since no one heard it. I check in to see what everybody’s up to; we compare notes on the weekend, on how everybody hates Mondays, on what our kids and spouses did–oh, and the projects we’re working on.  Occasionally we lose or gain cohorts.

It’s been nearly a year since I shared an office with @Loops91 and nearly six since I worked with @bbrasier–but because they’re both on Twitter, I can ask a question, make a snide comment or continue to beat an old inside joke into the ground with no more effort than if I were there with them. (For which they are no doubt unendingly grateful, given my love of beating old inside jokes into the ground.)  My friends @randibuckley and @fridaworld are on the other end of the state and world, respectively, from me, but most weekdays we check in with each other fairly regularly. And although I’ve yet to meet @sarahjbray or @WhenIGroUpCoach in person, they may as well be just down the hall from me.

It is a bit ironic, no? We get away from the watercooler and promptly find a new way to replicate those same dynamics. But here’s the thing: they may be the same dynamics, but now we have the luxury of choosing the minds and personalities with whom we’re brainstorming, commiserating and/or verbally jousting. As Sarah and I were saying from our respective offices [actually, she was outside on her property somewhere in Virginia Beach and I was at my kitchen table in suburban Los Angeles] the other day, it’s nothing short of delicious to be able to find whole enclaves of those all-too-rare-in-real-life, like-minded individuals. It changes how we think, how we feel, how we work.

So it isn’t quite business as usual, no. It’s business, but better. Call it Post-Watercoolerism, if you like. I’m just calling it great.

Photo by NidalM.

Let Us Compare Mythologies

There’s been a lot of talk around the internet lately about manifestos and life lists, and I love that stuff. Seriously. Big life lists are sensationally exciting to me. And manifestos? Color me drooling. I’ve had the life list for awhile now, but felt I really needed something more concise…a, well, manifesto. If you like. Oh, I know you’re not supposed to do these “me, too” blog posts. That’s okay. I love reading about what people want to do with their lives, and I reckon others might, too.

So here it is, my manifesto.

Ask for what you want. There’s this fabulous book I read in my early twenties, when I was still operating under the notion that my life’s path lay in the world of show business. It was all about hustle and strut then [WAIT a sec—it still is!] and although I loved that world, I often found it hard to reconcile my introversion* with the nonstop party I needed to be.  Anyway, I needed encouragement. Something to foster my bravery. And this book was it. It’s a little dated now, just right around the edges (e.g., the internet was still a newish thing then), but the advice is still great. More than anything else, this book encouraged me to come right out and ask. (Because it turns out that, in fact, they can’t read your mind. Also: interpretive dance tends to confuse people. Much better to just ask.)

Defy categorization. I’ve never fit in. Anywhere. Too poor, too rich, too ethnic, too white, too smart, too young, too old. It was a bit of a nightmare during the formative years, as you might imagine. And to some extent, the fear I developed of never finding a group of people who would get me has stayed with me. I’m interested in a million things and very good at a few things, and possibly those things cannot be combined to score me the corner cubicle.  But at the ripe old age of thirty-four, I’ve decided: fuck it. Oh, look: I’m a free agent now, with what’s shaping up to be my dream job, and am surrounded by crazy-inspiring, super-supportive, vibrant, intelligent people. The end.

Be you. I love Gretchen Rubin’s site The Happiness Project. I’ve been known to spend upwards of an hour combing through the archives. One of the things she’s done is create her own personal commandments. The first of these is “Be Gretchen.” Simple, yet so profound.  Be you. It’s not an excuse for moral slovenliness; it’s a call to action. Be the honorable, true you that’s in there. That’s who you’re meant to be.

Collect your “NO”s. Prior to working in entertainment, I had grand ideas about becoming a working actor (a working actor generally does not wait tables, in case you’re wondering what the difference is between an actor and a working actor). One of the best lessons I learned in my acting classes was this: you have to go out and collect your “NO”s. As an actor, a lot of your time will be spent applying for jobs you will never get. You’re selling it like the rent’s due, all the time, and only a very small percentage of those sales will come to fruition. Sound familiar? Yeah. I thought so, too. It’s about not wasting time taking things personally [a lesson I am still learning]. The sooner you meet your “NO” quota, the sooner you’ll hear your yes. Yes?

No one else can speak your piece. The other day one of my amazing clients sent me her answers to my Brand Alchemy Session questionnaire. Among her thoughtful, intelligent offerings was this gem:  “No one else in the world is just like me – it is up to me to allow my truth to be spoken, or else my ideas will never be out there in the world.” It stopped me dead in my tracks. I saw with an almost surreal clarity that my approach has been backwards. I just didn’t know it. It’s my responsibility to speak my truth. And it’s your responsibility to speak yours.

Listen. Always. Everywhere. Listen to what people say—and to what they don’t say.

Say thank you. Always. Everywhere. People don’t do this much anymore. It matters, and it stands out.

Comb your hair and show up. This one is courtesy of Bob Brasier, my favorite real-life rock star. When all else fails, when you can do absolutely no more, when you’ve got nothing left to give. Comb your hair and show up. I’ve repeated this one like a mantra every time I’ve found myself faced with a mistake, a tragedy, an embarrassing situation. It reminds me that showing up is better than not showing up. And when things get overwhelming, it can be infinitely helpful to reduce our overly-complicated lives to a yes/no checkbox.

Thoughts? Comments? What’s yours?

*I’m an extroverted introvert, not the regular kind. Much like a floodlight, I am either ON or OFF and require lots of OFF time in order to function. (And yes, it is tiring being this complicated. Le sigh!)

#5 is my favorite.

I use GoogleVoice primarily for business. If I get a business call at home, I can just answer the land line and rest a little easier, knowing the call won’t be dropped due to the sporadic cell phone coverage in my hometown. That aside, I think the main benefit of having voice-to-text messages delivered to my phone and my inbox lies in the fact that, generally, I can get an idea of whether or not my client is angry. That’s about all I can tell from the text, but it’s something. Hey, it’s free. Here, some excellent examples of the voice-to-text messages I’ve received.

1. Hi Emma, it’s so if you are doing calling.

2. I think you’re probably a better word to describe it, but there’s just something about it, but I’d like to just seems really 9 cents off and something that if someone was reading yet.

3. Anyway, I’m calling about the photos that you sent tapes. I guess they look ok. Other not great but whenever you wanna call into Scott 243.

4. Also, can you throw the Warriors resort referral service and I get free referrals from that.

5. Hi. This is Susan. I think I want to be put on a bro.