Babysitting the Rusty Nail: One Story Behind An Accidental Sabbatical

On dropping Michelin stars ★★★

In the book Wanting: The Power of Mimetic Desire in Everyday Life, the author Luke Burgis talks about the idea that we all (most?) have our own version of Michelin stars, what he calls mimetic desires. A memetic (imitation) desire is wanting what other people want because they want it. Simply put, everyone wants a Michelin star, so I want it too. This goal and all goals are embedded in a system. Without the system, there’s no goal. 

Consider the mimetic systems of social media and law firms. 

In social media, the more engagement a post gets, the more reposts, the more comments, the more it is valued, the more you as the imitator want to engage, the more status the OG poster gets. That’s the system’s goal, which without you even thinking about it, becomes your goal, and failure to achieve that goal does what? Does it make you less important, interesting, valuable, or good? If so, you’ve gotten lost in the system and the mimetic desires within that system.

In big law firms, there’s a clear path to partnership. So clear that if you don’t make it, you might not get fired, but you will likely either leave in shame or stay and stagnate. But from day one as a lowly intern and then associate, you are told and shown by all those who came before you that making partner is the goal.

But what happens if it’s not the goal? Is that even an option? And what does it take to be able to assess if being a partner is what you really want or if it’s just a mimetic desire?

Usually, it’s a kick in the teeth. Or a come-to-Jesus moment when you have enough awareness to see that you may very well be pushing for something you never really bought into. Or pushing to achieve an outcome that takes you further from what you want or what brought you to the work in the first place. 

This brings me to the rusty nail, or in my case, my rusty as-hell writing.

I’ve been getting watermelon coins to write for over 30 years. But before that, from the moment I could write, I did write. Writing has always been my calling, as much of who I am as my eye color. There’s nothing I’ve spent more time doing, no activity I love more, and nothing that has saved me as much as writing has. 

But it’s been a hot minute since I’ve done it freely, under my own name, in my own voice, and without a paycheck. Six and a half years, to be exact. And it’s obvious. This post is as rusty as the nails sticking out of our shed that could certainly kill someone if they brushed by them. My writing is just not quite there anymore. A million miles from there, maybe. It’s not as easy as it used to be. My voice is not as clear. And I am fumbling as I try to find it again.

But I am trying to let that go. When I had one of my “Coming Clean” meetings (something I’ve written about before), I put my mimetic desires around my former writing self on one of the seats in my boardroom and told it, kindly, to piss off. I said, 

“Dear old writing, thank you for giving me life, a paycheck, a place to heal. Thank you for instilling in me ambition, desire, and the ability to crank out thousands of words without a bead of sweat. Thank you for teaching me. I am clean with you. I am also done with the former version of you. I respectfully let go of my expectations about you, deserving language around you, and giving you more power than you deserve. I promise to let go and move on so a new writer can emerge. Thank you for being awesome. It was great while it lasted.”

By being kind to my former writing self and expressing gratitude for it while also letting it go, I can begin again. I can clean the slate and write with the energy and mindset of a newbie. I can disentangle from mimetic systems and mimetic desires and discover where this newness leads me. 

I can also accept that this is hard af. The urges to edit, delete, trash, give up, and cry are irresistible.  

But just as I was about to delete my Substack for the fifth time, I was reminded of something Elizabeth Gilbert once said about babysitting your work: Don’t do it. Write the thing, publish it, post it, paint it on a mural, or do whatever you need to do with it and move on. Forgive yourself for being terrible or unreadable, or boring or derivative and just keep going. And in the moments of doubt and angst, I remember Gilbert’s words, 

“The more important virtue for a writer, I believe, is self-forgiveness. Because your writing will always disappoint you. Your laziness will always disappoint you. You will make vows: “I’m going to write for an hour every day,” and then you won’t do it. You will think: “I suck. I’m such a failure. I’m washed up.” Continuing to write after that heartache of disappointment doesn’t take only discipline but also self-forgiveness (which comes from a place of kind and encouraging and motherly love). The other thing to realize is that all writers think they suck. When I was writing “Eat, Pray, Love”, I had just as strong a mantra of THIS SUCKS ringing through my head as anyone does when they write anything. But I had a clarion moment of truth during the process of that book. One day, when I was agonizing over how utterly bad my writing felt, I realized: “That’s actually not my problem.” The point I realized was this – I never promised the universe that I would write brilliantly; I only promised the universe that I would write. So I put my head down and sweated through it, as per my vows.”

Thank you, Elizabeth. Yes, my writing is rusty. Yes, I worry that I’ll never get it back, that I don’t have anything left to say, that I have lost my voice, that there’s nothing new under the sun, that I’m just another schmuck. But I also know: That’s not my problem.

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Is Your Sabbatical On the Chopping Block?

On keeping your job

I’ve never been on the chopping block for not doing my work. Or other people’s work. Not working is just not one of my things. I’ve got plenty of other ones keeping me busy.

I was thinking about all of this not getting fired business when I was listening to ❤️ Jenny Blake talk to David Thomas Tao on a recent episode of Free Time with Jenny Blake.

David started BarBend.com in 2016, and as a CrossFit athlete (no, not like an athlete athlete), I’ve spent more than a few hours on that site over the years. So getting a little behind the scenes with David this morning was a damn treat.

Here are my five takeaways from the episode:

1. Have a clear mission – “Let’s build ESPN.com for strength and convince everyone they can lift weights.” Crystal.
2. Don’t get too big for your britches – Hire slowly and smartly, and make sure every position earns its way onto the balance sheet.
3. Do the work, all is coming, maybe – By the end of the first year, they had 1.4 million readers. By 2022, they had 31 million. Keep showing up and do the thing.
4. Pick a lane and be cool – You can’t be everything to everyone, so just do what you do, and like @jayacunzo says, “Don’t be the best. Be their favorite.” Raving and loyal fans. They nailed it.
5. Get the right investment – VCs passed. Friends and family stepped up. Blessing in disguise.

I’m jotting down these key points as I listen to Jenny and Dave and drink my scalding-hot-like-the-sun dirty chai when I realize my accidental sabbatical needs a business plan.

I am sure it will not surprise you that I have opinions on how much work is required to meet the standards. As they say in CrossFit, “The standard is the standard.” And I need some new ones if my accidental sabbatical has any chance under the sun.

I need a mission, a battle cry, a line item, a niche, and some goddamn seed money. Like any good start-up, I also have to have the general hope of being acquired. I mean, I’m not for sale, technically. Or am I?

If I can do all that, at least for the time being, I can avoid the chopping block.

🪓 What I Need to Do So I Don’t Get Fired
From My Own Goddamn Sabbatical 🪓

1. Have a clear mission – Mic-drop copy and writing so good that mine and my clients’ soon-to-be readers and customers will trip over themselves like it’s 1964 and the Beatles just landed at JFK.
2. Don’t get too big for your britches – Do it all myself, but make people say, “How the hell does one person do all of that?” This is the utter joy of delightfully tiny teams that “earn twice as much in half the time with joy and ease, while serving the highest good.” All I need is a little bit of me and a whole lot of Notion. The tiniest of all tiny teams.
3. Do the work, all is coming, maybe – I can’t give up on this idea now; I already have it tattooed on my wrist. But what would “all is coming” look like for me? I have a few irons in the fire that are nearly ready for some marshmallow sticks. I’ll keep you posted.
4. Pick a lane and be cool – After 52 years of breathing and 30+ years working, I know what I’m best at strategizing, directing, writing/editing, and getting shit done. By sticking to that and dishing it all out generously and freely, it always pays off in bizarro and unpredictable ways.
5. Get the right investment – I’m the only investor I need. I worked to make this happen, and I have only myself to blame if I can’t pay myself back, whether financially, emotionally, or otherwise. And I sure as shit don’t want my only firing to be at my own hands. Still, I have a leadership team meeting with me, myself, and I every Monday at 9 am to make sure I’m hitting my marks. Randos welcome.

Now, of course, it’s your turn. As the CEO, Founder, and everything of your perfectly-sized accidental sabbatical, what’s your business plan? What are you going to do to survive another day? What paper or idea or mindset or body part are you going to move to keep your momentum up in what may possibly feel like an exhausting pit of quicksand but has the potential to be the greatest surprise of your life?

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It’s Never Too Late for This

… But it is too late for lots

It’s too late for some things. 

That’s my least favorite sentence in the world. But it doesn’t make it any less true. 

It’s too late for me to be a pro tennis player, the news director at a huge station, an ER nurse at a huge hospital, the editor-in-chief at the NYT, or the head of an athletic department at UCLA (all dreams I had). 

At 52 years old, the ship has sailed on many things. Trust me, I made a list of all the things I can never do or do over, which is longer than the Pan-American Highway. And I think it’s important to come to grips with that reality. For a great take on gravity problems (too old to be a pro tennis player) vs. actionable problems (difficult to get a job doing X in this market), read Designing Your Life by Bill Burnett and Dave Evans.

However, there are plenty of things it’s not too late for. Things that we could never have known or been able to do when we might or should or could have been doing the things it is now too late for. Ha ha.

For example, I began my career as a social worker. I was a 23-year-old white girl from the suburbs going into prisons and youth homes in Detroit and meeting one-on-one and in groups with prisoners. I was prepping six-year-olds to testify against their sexually abusive family members. I didn’t have the perspective or life experience to do that job well. I sh/could have been playing tennis.

At 30, I started a coaching practice and coached people decades older than me in corporate America, a locale I’d never been in. I sh/could have been in a broadcast journalism program. 

At 34, I turned down a full ride at my top choice for a PhD program in sports psychology to move back to Boulder to “be happy and live life.” If I stayed on the path I’d spent years laying out for myself, maybe I’d be that AD today. 

But, if I hadn’t left that social work job, coaching practice, or PhD program (twice), I wouldn’t have racked up the life experience, education, and time under tension that led me to the best work I’ve ever been lucky enough to do—work with the Parkinson’s community—where I listened, hosted a show, gave people a voice, educated, and promoted movement for living well, or the work I’m moving toward now.

I may not also have come to understand that there’s a big difference between it being too late to DO something and it being too late to BE or FEEL something.

It’s never too late for that. 

What comes to mind when you think about your “it’s too late” list? Now, instead of the thing (the title, the job, the experience) you are thinking about, think about the feeling you were after or the person you imagined yourself to be if you were doing that thing.

Here’s what mine looks like.

Incidentally, it’s not too late for me to be, feel, or embody anything on this list. My age and runway may limit the number of “jobs” I can hold, but it doesn’t limit what’s most important or what I am really after. It’ll never be too late for that. And if it is too late, I’ll be dead, so it won’t matter.

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On Calling People Out for Being Awesome

Someone is waiting and desperately needs to hear from you

After waiting what seemed a bazookazillion years for my accidental sabbatical to start, the first couple of months flew by. Maybe because I was still working. I’m not really good at this.

Still, I have nothing but thanks to give. No matter how messy things get in my sweet little noggin, I continue to be grateful for this time and for everyone who encouraged me and made it possible.

So let the thanking begin.

The Handwritten Letter Project

A bunch of years ago, I wrote a couple of books (not in print, too expensive to print) called The Handwritten Letter Project and The Handwritten Letter Project for Kids. They were inspired by my first experience writing letters during National Card & Letter Writing Month in April 2010. (No doubt, designed to be a boon for greeting card makers, but I still love the sentiment and usually make my own.) Also inspired by Bill Snyder, a long-time football coach for Kansas State who is said to have written dozens of letters to people EVERY day for decades. Dang.

Here’s the cover of the book for kids that I still love more than watermelon. (Thank you to the amazing illustrator Jamie Letourneau.) I wrote this one for kids because I think writing letters to people is one of the very best habits to develop, and there’s no better time to practice it than when you don’t yet have a phone, driver’s license, or freedom.

This project also sprang out of feeling bored with my gratitude journal. I mean, I get it. It’s super important to call out what you’re grateful for, but I don’t really need a journal to do that.

I sing my gratitude every time I stop at a red light, am in line at the grocery store, have to wait for my always-late daughter and husband, and when I’m waiting for Bucky to take his abnormally large daily dumps. IOW, I’m thanking my ass off to the tune of about a million notes a day.

So, when it came to putting pen to paper, I decided to turn my gratitude practice outward and write a letter to someone every day for being awesome. The first time I did it, I did it for 30 days. I loved it so much that I kept going. And didn’t stop until many months later when I ran out of people to write to.

I wrote to friends, family members, nurses, teachers, lunch ladies, the lady at the DMV who puts all other DMV employees to shame, authors, firemen, and anyone else who made my day/moment better.

And it felt so dang good that to this day, I always have a wooden box filled with notecards stamped and addressed to people so that I just grab one when the mood hits, it almost always hits, and pop one in the mail.

A bit of a warning…

⚠️ Note: If you start doing this, and like I did, you write to family members who you may not have written to that often, and you start thanking them for everything they’ve ever done, be prepared to get some concerned voices on the other end of a phone call. “Is everything okay? Should I be worried? This sounded like a goodbye letter.”

Eesh. Nope, just saying thank you.

Okay, so there’s this process for doing this that makes it really fun. And prompts, too, which I’ll give you. Just as ideas. First up, though, you need supplies and to do a little bit of prep.

🍾 When I first shared this more than a decade ago, people wrote in and sent me pictures from their Handwritten Letter Project parties. If you’re a party person, send a fun invite to your friends (you need enough room for everyone to have space at a table or on the floor to work) and give them the list of supplies they need to bring. 🎉

💌 How to Prep for The Handwritten Letter Project

1. Go to your favorite stationary store and pick out at least 30 notecards or long-form letter pages and envelopes. Or make your own.
2. Buy a pen that will make you feel smarter, funnier, and more brilliant each time you touch it to the page. Yes, there are pens like these out there. And you should have some.
3. Sit down in your favorite chair with your dashing new pen and a piece of paper, and write down the names of the first 30 people that come to your mind. Don’t overthink it. The first time I did this, someone I had not talked to in 10 years came to my mind. When she received my letter, she called me immediately and told me that receiving my letter was one of the best moments of her entire year. We talked and laughed for hours. Just go with whoever comes to mind. There’s a reason they will.
4. Address all of your envelopes. I recommend doing this a few days before the start date because, inevitably, you’ll be missing some addresses, and you’ll need time to track them down, send emails, ask friends and family, etc. Then, put a cool stamp on each one. You used to be able to make your own, but that’s like some early 2000s type of shit. There are plenty to choose from here, though.

Now for the prompts. Fair warning: I wrote this a looooong time ago, and unless someone wants to pay me to update, copy edit, and bring it to the 2020s, it’ll remain just a perfectly little artifact from the Oughts.

The Hand Written Letter Project. Go ahead, make someone’s day!