What really matters. A biz buddy of mine is organizing a free, low-tech summit called “The New Normal.” (More details below in the PS.) Anyway, she asked for volunteers to share presentations on how we’re “surviving this thing as a self-employed mom.”

I meet two kinds of women who are haunted by the big ideas they feel welling up inside of them but can never seem to articulate on paper. Kind 1: Want to write but fear they have nothing to say AKA“I sit down to write and literally nothing comes out.” AKA “I really can’t think of any ideas.” Kind 2: Want to write but have too many ideas AKA “Focus is not my strong suit.” AKA “I think I might have ADHD.”

A posed photo version of the day in question… I have a friend who set aside a whole day just to write. She had put on her big-girl-pants for weeks to protect this one special day. She scheduled no calls, no other work, no distractions. Just her and the ol’ laptop. And, yeah. Nothin’.

I’ve started to rest instead of push through. I don’t know if it’s my age (a “young 39,” as someone said to me yesterday??) , hormones, or something else, but my body doesn’t do things just because my mind tells it to anymore. My body is in revolt against my hyperactive mind. I’ve heard the “oxygen mask” analogy dozens of times and I’ve written about it myself.

We assume we all see the world in the same way. But we don’t. Let me start again. I assume. I assume we all see the world in the same way. When I say, “see the world,” I’m speaking quite literally. For instance. I read this blog post yesterday. “Today I have learned that not everyone has an internal monologue and it has ruined my day.” Apparently, not all people think in words and sentences.

Last week I talked about maintenance writing. (ICYMI, I compared writing to sex, so go look that one up in your inbox or read it on my LinkedIn ?.) Anyway, my point was that we are not going to write a heartbreaking work of staggering genius every time we put fingers to keyboard. We are not even going to write something particularly good every time. But we are going to write something.

In praise of maintenance sex. (I was too chicken to put “sex” in the headline.) Anyway, hello! I’m talking maintenance sex today.

I’m not an expert in this topic and therefore I can’t write about it for my business’s social media.” I love this statement because it seems really reasonable. Like… “Who, li’l ole amateur me? No… leave this topic to all those experts ‘out there.’ They’re obviously loads more qualified, so they’ll do a better job!” Yet it’s not reasonable. It’s wrong. Ass-backwards.

This week is the fourth anniversary of David Bowie’s death. David Bowie was the first celebrity who pierced my consciousness who seemed to be doing exactly whatever the eff he wanted. I miss him. Anyway. Bowie. ---> Changes. ---> The new year. It all got me thinking.

That’s 2019. The key that allows failures to happen without shame. The key that allows for gratitude and appreciation of all that I have and everyone who supported me this year. The key that allowed me to think bigger. That. Is. It.