Sprouting a Business, One Seedling at a Time

I'll readily admit that nothing excites me more than watching an innovative business idea come to life. And when it's a friend's great idea, it's all the sweeter.

My friend, Rebecca Carpenter, worked for many years as a successful brand strategist to large corporations and non-profits. She enjoyed the work- in spite of its ups and downs- but eventually she found she was ready for a change of scenery; she just didn't know what kind of scenery that entailed. All she knew was that something was missing in her work and, when she became a mother, she decided to take time while raising her little boy to discover what the missing pieces might be. 

Fostering A New Interest

What better way to unearth new interests than by taking up hobbies? While still consulting in brand strategy, Rebecca casually sampled several creative endeavors on the side such as writing and crafting beautiful things. She even sold some of her handmade items on Etsy.

But one interest particularly stuck with her: gardening. In the backyard of her family's townhouse, she had started a vegetable garden. She began by experimenting with different plants from one season to the next and found that she loved working outdoors with the soil, testing various compost combinations and lighting environments that would yield optimal results. However, realizing that trial and error could only take her so far, she enrolled in a gardening class. That's when she knew she was hooked; suddenly Rebecca had discovered an untapped fascination with horticulture.

Her enthusiasm was so great that it motivated her to enroll in a master gardening program. It was here that she'd soon learn how to nurture plants organically, finding alternatives to chemical fertilizers and sprays. This type of gardening, using only organic methods, appealed to Rebecca in so many ways. She not only enjoyed the challenge of natural garden care but also the peace of mind it brought her.


Following Her Enthusiasm

At this point, my friend didn't quite know where organic gardening would take her, only that she loved it. She decided to devote more time and energy to it because organic gardening was something she really believed in and felt good about doing. By allowing her interests to evolve slowly and naturally, she was, in effect, allowing her life to unfold organically, not unlike her gardening philosophy.

Along with her growing passion for gardening, Rebecca had another, related interest that she'd been fostering for years: eating and serving delicious, organic, nutrient-rich whole food. She began reading numerous books about the food and farming industries and became more and more convinced that growing ones own organic food- or, at the very least, getting closer to the source of one's food- was essential to good health, well-being, and a necessary component of protecting of our planet.

Sharing Her Enthusiasm with Others

Ever an entrepreneur at heart, Rebecca couldn't help but ponder whether this pairing of interests- gardening and eating organically harvested foods- might somehow result in a business. She brainstormed with friends and quickly discovered that organic kitchen gardens, in particular, seemed to dominate the conversation.

Several really great questions sprang from this brainstorming session, such as:

Do a lot of people want to grow their own food but don't have the time, energy or know how?

Could she solve that problem by helping people grow their own organic food?

Was there a general misconception out there, dictating that people have to live in single family homes with big yards to have a kitchen garden?

What about helping people grow container gardens, so that it didn't matter whether they lived in an apartment with just a balcony or a town home with a tiny back patio?

And if people had a yard, what if, as part of her service, she were able to build the beds for her clients, so that they didn't have to worry about time, labor or not having a so-called green thumb?

Rebecca became excited. She was getting lots of "yes" responses to the above questions from friends and family and the research she'd done. Could this be her new path to take? She even had a perfect company name picked out:

"Sprout."

But, just as she felt her heart beating faster when she thought about launching this business, doubts streamed in as fast as the possibilities. Yes, she had an M.B.A. from The University of Virginia and years of business experience under her belt, but Rebecca still had hesitations about going into this venture full throttle. She went back and forth, deliberating between starting this as a business or keeping it as a hobby she felt passionate about.

Then it dawned on her: why not launch a sort of hybrid program? (I think this is a brilliant strategy, by the way, and something few entrepreneurial spirits do.) Rebecca determined that she would launch a small project versus a big business. There would be no twenty page business plan, no huge investment of money, no board of directors or even ridiculous commitments of time. No, she would start small, but treat the project as if it were a business.

A Project is Born

To keep start-up costs at a bare minimum, she ordered free business cards online, created a no-cost, simply designed website and logo herself, and began blogging about her gardening experience. She pinned interesting garden ideas, photos and recipes on Pinterest and Facebook. She came up with checklists for clients' needs and formulated a process that included an initial "intake" session, wherein she'd meet with the client first to discuss their desires for a garden as well as their time and maintenance limitations.

Rebecca,
taking notes in the journal she keeps
for all clients.

Once she had set up the scaffolding of her business project via social media, Rebecca began slowly spreading the word to close friends and family about her new venture, Sprout Kitchen Gardens. Within these smaller social circles she asked for volunteers to take part in her project. Of course, when she told yours truly about this new endeavor I was absolutely ecstatic. I believe my specific reaction was, "Where do I sign up?!"

After all, I had tried and failed to create a productive vegetable garden in the past, and eventually gave up because of the large amounts of time spent for abysmal output. But I truly did want a garden; I just couldn't make it happen with my busy schedule, lack of knowledge, and sunlight challenges. (Our house backs to woods and much of my yard is covered in shade.) So here was an offer I couldn't refuse: someone else would choose the plants and pots, figure out the sunlight and soil requirements, tell me how much to water them and enable me to have better results. Also included: trouble-shooting as the plants matured.

What wasn't to love?



Gardening Guru

As you can see from the pictures, I ended up signing on as one of Sprout's first customers! Our whole family is really into our kitchen garden, and we're able to tend to it very easily, primarily because my gardening guru, Rebecca, set us up for success, giving us several easy-to-implement tips.

A lovely bowl of greens, straight from my garden!

My friend wisely encouraged me to try a container garden on our deck, right off of our kitchen, the only place that gets full sun all day.

I was skeptical, I'll admit, when Rebecca suggested that location. I thought all of the plants would roast from being in the hot Virginia sun all day, as my failed flower attempts had in the past. I figured I'd have to water them at least two times a day just to keep them from withering under the broiling heat. Not so, she insisted. It turns out that vegetable plants are a bit more forgiving than flowers, especially when you use really good, rich soil to begin with. And Rebecca set up my garden so that all of the pots can be sufficiently watered just once a day, from one hefty watering can, filled up at the kitchen sink every morning.

Wild Life

She also helped me solve the problem of pilfering animals. Now, you might think that I'm referring to the usual suspects like squirrels, birds or deer, but actually they tend to leave my garden alone since it's on our deck. (Another benefit of the container garden!)

Rather, the culprit is none other than our beloved pet Golden Retriever, Cloey Margaret. (If you read this blog faithfully then you are not surprised a bit about our resident thief.) But thankfully Rebecca advised me to put up nets around the most tempting of plants to prevent Cloey from harvesting her own food.

That lovely, juicy red strawberry pictured above? Cloey snatched it up, seconds after I proudly snapped a picture of my first fruit grown EVER.

"Don't look at me!"

Check Out Sprout!

Check out Rebecca's fantastic blog, sproutkitchengardens.com, and read more about her great business project. You'll get some fantastic organic recipes and wonderful tips for gardening.

AND... drum roll please... click HERE to see Rebecca's post entitled "Katie's Garden", explaining how she planted my garden!

How to Bring an Island Home with You

The crazy thing about staying on an island is that you discover the beauty of space. Especially when you are on a particularly small island.

That may sound paradoxical, but it makes perfect sense to me, perhaps because I'm a woman who:
1. loves islands
2. discovered she needed some space.

Now, I always knew that I loved islands, especially the tropical ones.

But what I didn't know- at least not until I stayed on Sanibel Island for 10 glorious days- was that I sought space. I know that now because when I came back home, I immediately began missing that space.

  

Surprisingly, I didn't find I missed the physical space I'd inhabited- the warm, sandy beaches, the gentle waves of the Gulf, the salty air that felt so good on my skin- as much as I missed the mental space.

In fact, the morning after we returned home, I immediately felt squeezed for that space. I had no room to think and to just concentrate on one thing to its completion. I began to feel stressed and overwhelmed with equally pressing tasks, wondering where that "purity of intention" disappeared to, as Anne Morrow Lindbergh referred to in Gift From the Sea.

And, most importantly, how about that "enough" mindset that I myself wrote about just a couple of weeks before we left? Where did that go? I knew that coming back from vacation was always tough- for everyone- but I thought this time would be different somehow, since I'd really felt centered when I left for Sanibel. But apparently it wasn't to be. The Monday After Vacation was kicking my behind.

And I hate losing, especially to a Monday.

But after a couple of days of putting out fires and spinning my wheels with junk that all seemed to be equally important, I realized that I'd forgotten the subtraction part of the equation. I realized that this piece of the puzzle, the heavy-handed, almost ruthless prioritizing, has to come first or there's no room for mental space to exist.

It just took me 'til Thursday to realize that, which is not bad, I suppose. But hopefully next time Monday will be easier to tackle.

(If someone could just remind me that would be great.)

Vacation Space

Going on vacation- a good vacation, that is- automatically subtracts all of the non-essential details from our lives for us, limiting distractions and igniting our ability to be fully present. After all, on vacation we possess only the bare minimum of things we need, all of which can fit in the space of a suitcase. (Granted mine was rather large, but still....)

We give ourselves permission to linger instead, and notice what our family is doing, what nature is doing,

and, ideally, we even notice how we ourselves are doing, physically, mentally and spiritually. 

But what happens when we come back from this vacation? That suitcase of bare essentials gets unpacked, and is matriculated back into a world filled with too many non-essential distractions. Which is why most of us dread that Monday After Vacation: we become acutely aware of all of those distractions that had been pronouncedly absent when we were living fully and simply on our little island.

Creating Space

Not being one to give up a good fight, I decided to battle that Return-From-Paradise onslaught head-on. I was determined to bring some of that "vacay" mentality home with me.

So, in order to recapture my less-is-plenty mindset, I started subtracting. I ruthlessly unsubscribed to insignificant email lists, promotional garbage and arbitrary social media updates (there were far too many to count.) I postponed some non-pressing activities to a time when I could better prepare for them. I deleted all of the little STUFF (a better four letter word exists but I won't use it) that had been building up in my day-to-day living but which had gone unnoticed until it disappeared for 10 days.  Then, with all of this build-up gone, I again re-focused on the most important goals in my business and in my personal life.

And, you know, it felt really good! Almost as good as a day at the beach.

So, What Truly Belongs In Your Suitcase?

Why not create your own mental island of intentional, peaceful living? You could start by subtracting those trivial things that are big on distraction and little on payoff. I'm not talking about the challenging, important responsibilities critical to your livelihood, family and health. I'm talking about those meaningless distractions that hinder rather than propel your work or life forward.

And what will you do with all that mental space that's now freed up?

Here are some ideas I came up with while lingering a bit: 

Relish sweet moments.

Stare at a bird.

Reflect. 

And notice reflections.

 

Find inspiration  

in color

and interesting textures. 

Find shapes in cloud formations...

and watch the sun melt into the horizon.

Island Time

It's not easy, cutting back or saying "no" or ditching things you aren't absolutely sure about ditching. But I think it's essential. We need mental space or our bodies and brains start to revolt. And the only way to guard and protect this space is to set up protective barriers, and build in margins of time that surround our most treasured activities. Otherwise, our priorities get washed away with the tide of daily living.

I urge you to try it: build in "island time" to your life and discover the great things that happen. 

This dude's definitely built in some island time.

Happy (zzzzzzzz....) New Year

This new year I feel as if I'm an old grizzly bear, groggily stirring from a deep winter slumber.

I can assure you, however, that I'm not complaining.

This extremely relaxed state is due to the fact that I haven't done much in terms of work during these past two weeks; mostly my time has been focused on my family.  Since my husband took off two weeks I vowed to pretty much do the same. Except for a client meeting here and there, I have been off the grid professionally.  No writing, no presentation planning, very little coaching, no reading about coaching or motivating people.

My days these past two weeks have consisted mainly of sleeping in, cooking, baking, scouring the immediate area-and world wide web- for holiday gifts, wrapping those gifts and unwrapping some goodies of my own, going out to dinner, entertaining, reading non-fiction, ice skating, playing in the snow with my kids, and, one of my favorites, sitting by the fire roasting marshmallows.

And while I've enjoyed relaxing and focusing more on family and friends, I hesitate to borrow the clichéd phrase, "I reconnected with what is truly important." Because "what is truly important" spans beyond relaxation and family and friends and my time with them.  As crucial as those precious moments may be, the lack of hard work for two weeks reminds me of the importance of playing my other roles in life beyond wife, mother, sister, daughter, and friend.  I appreciate my need to fill other capacities that involve solving problems and creating career opportunities for others.

I unabashedly admit that I revel in the energy that comes with orchestrating possible business opportunities, connecting with new people in my quest to better career education, creating new tools to help empower people to reach their potential. I'm invigorated by activities such as coaching, writing, reading, and presenting. I suppose that is the "flow" that the great psychologist/philosopher, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi refers to.

“Enjoyment appears at the boundary between boredom and anxiety, 
when the challenges are just balanced 
with the person's capacity to act.” 

― Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

Author of Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience

In essence, I derive momentum from doing what I enjoy and employing my greatest abilities.

But I also acknowledge the longterm rewards that come from sitting back, letting my stronger abilities take a vacation and noticing non-work related things. Like what Christmas presents my kids are enjoying the most. Or talking to my husband about the flavors of the latest roasted sweet potato recipe I've created. Or not having any ambitions beyond retiring the ole PJ's by noon-or 5pm on a good day. It gives my mind a chance to let ideas from 2013 percolate without any interruption. And I'll have a fresh perspective on the creative problems I'll need to help others tackle this coming year.

Of course, this also means that I don't have that momentum to tackle much right out of the gate. And that some opportunities for professional growth probably passed me by as I laid on the couch and watched my son act out an imaginary game of football while watching a real football game on TV. (Same goes with hockey- when he watches sports, there are always two games going on- the real and the imagined one. Tackling himself gets a little crazy, but whatever.)

It means that at the end of this hibernation I feel the grip of that cumbersome law of physics which says an object at rest stays at rest. That any motion toward progress feels about as distant as that bar of soap when you're lazily submerged in a warm, sudsy bubble bath.

So, in this brand spankin' new year, my creative juices are still in need of some revving up. I'm still feeling a bit lethargic and more than a trite unambitious. But that's okay. After all, 2014 is still in it's infancy and we're a mere four days in.

And I figure, why not have a more gradual approach to the new year?

Ciabatta, Anyone?

I've therefore decided to borrow the words on a sign outside a new local bakery/eatery. The sign claims the store is having a "soft opening," which means, I discovered, no grand openings. No website. No liquor license, at least yet. Credit cards will be accepted... eventually. And please, don't expect regular hours during the week.

However, most weekends you'll likely find its door open for business, an aroma of freshly baked bread wafting out into the parking lot, beckoning hapless passersby to pop in for a buttery, flaky pain au chocolat or pecan sticky bun.

Of course, I have no idea what this "soft opening" means for their bottom line.  And, I suppose, it's not my problem to address anyway.  I just try to do my civic, locavore duty by buying their delectably moist chocolate chip muffins and melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon rolls. (I know, I know. I am so altruistic.)

Alas, cheers to a "soft" beginning in 2014. May you have many lovely moments to experience in the new year-personally and professionally.

Photo credit: Creative Commons, Via Flickr

Reject a Job Offer?! Maybe.

From salary.com: A very informative article to help you stay objective in deciding whether or not to take that job offer.

-Katie

Consider This

Part III: "What to Do With MY Dreams" by Joseph Coram

I wanted to be a writer or a musician most of my life. My dream had a great deal of glory involved in it most of the time. I wanted to be a famous author who revolutionized the world of the written word; I wanted to be a famous musician who brought together the extremes of creativity and accessibility—I wanted to make music that the most artistic minds would respect and that the most unsophisticated sensibilities would really enjoy, whether or not they recognized how brilliant or creative it was. So what am I to do with those things?

That was the unspoken question with which I approached Katie, and in my time working with her, we came up with two solid answers—or, rather, two much better questions—and a lot of good ideas about how to bring them into reality. Briefly, when you have a dream: (1) find out what’s at its core; and (2) figure out what else you want. Dreams like mine are always both too much and too little to be of immediate use.

You have to really know yourself to know what you really dream for, and you have to know something about how the world works to see where a life following those dreams will land you, and that takes help from outside, from community, from ‘counselors’ in the broadest sense of the term.

What am I to do with those dreams?

Take the first one. What am I really after? I want to write, sure. That’s something I can do whether or not I make a living doing it. I want to change things with my writing. That’s doable, too. Revolutionizing anything may or may not happen—and, importantly, I have not given up that fantasy, and if you ask me on most days whether or not I think it’s going to happen, you will likely hear some form of a “yes”—but I can, with some effort, reasonably expect to change people, or at least encourage them to rethink some things, with my writing. Making an impact is a legitimate goal.

So then, what else do I want? When I say I want to write, what else am I after? Katie posed this question early, and with a series of pretty incisive conversations and diagnostics, we got somewhere with it. Well, I want to make my own schedule and have my own priorities; I want to be creatively engaged with things that interest me; I want people to respond to me and give me feedback, so I know how I’m doing and whether or not what I’m communicating makes sense. 

Those are clues. 

On a more nuts-and-bolts level, I want to spend at least some of every day writing and at least some of every day doing something tangible that helps people. I am naturally what they call a “maestro,” as opposed to what they call a “tribal” personality—I’d rather be an expert in something who gets called in for particular occasions than someone who’d prefer to work in a pack. 

Those are all clues, too. 

When Katie had me look through a deck of cards with a different photograph on each one—some with people, some of nature, some of old woodsheds, crowds, monuments, all sorts of things—and she asked me to pick out the ones that most grabbed my attention, we were both surprised and intrigued when the six I picked out all had pictures of people on them, most of them with people interacting. We had both had me pegged as more of a ‘thinker’ than a ‘feeler,’ but all the pictures I picked screamed that there was a ‘feeler’ in there to be acknowledged. Surprising, interesting, revealing—another clue. I also realized I want time to pursue music, too, even if writing is more important. While music may not be an actual part of my career—though music reviewing may be—I know it’s important, and I want a career that accommodates that.

You always know more than you think. And it takes someone who knows people and who knows the real world to bring that out and show you where you fit. That’s where Katie was indispensable.

I didn’t come away from career coaching knowing the next chapter of my story verbatim. I didn’t even come away knowing when this limbo period would be over and I’d actually feel like a grown-up, living in a coherent narrative again. But I did come away knowing with much greater clarity and realism that writing is in my future, as I’ve long hoped it would be, that people are in my future, as I was surprised to find I so badly wanted them to be, and that there is a place for me in the real world—namely, a small college somewhere where I can teach, write, engage with people, and have time to pursue my other interests. I now know some steps to take to find it. 

I don’t think progress is as simple or as automatic as I did when I was young, but I am pretty sure, now, that it didn’t end when I graduated, and it may have some more surprises in store for me in the future.

Part II: "The Dream" by Joseph Coram

At some point, the questions people have been asking you since you were young—particularly, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”—no longer get asked. Does that mean you’ve grown up? Not necessarily. But those questions begin to implicate the present; unless you are one of the few who are as certain of what you want to be as you were when you were six—and are equipped to make it happen—you realize, whether or not you have any dreams that have lasted, you are the only one that will make anything like a dream really happen.

But you also realize there is an objective, solid (or at least semi-solid) outside world within which your dream will or will not be realized. It may be that one’s twenties are spent trying to learn the rules of that world and how her or she fits in with it. Perhaps that’s why it’s a chapter in the story that tends to get skimmed or even skipped.

I am abundantly convinced that, however clichéd it may sound, it is critically important to keep your dreams alive. I think it is only slightly less important to realize they will almost certainly never happen in the way you dream they will. But a young adult who still knows how to dream is way better off than one who is too cynical and disillusioned to have any hope for the future.

Both of the perspectives I just mentioned—the dreamer and the realist—I think are necessary, and I think there is a way to keep both of them intact by figuring out how they relate to each other: the dreamer needs to be tempered by the realist, just as the cynic needs to be animated, and perhaps softened, by hope.

As I’ve thought about it, I’ve come to think the best way to look at this is to treat them both as dreams—that is, to realize that you always have at least two dreams in play. The first should be the easiest to recognize, but may not be, depending on how far away you are from your childhood: it is the astronaut, the rock star, the visionary author (or in my case, both of the latter two)—whatever you would have answered at age six when asked the familiar question of what you want to be when you grow up. The second dream is roughly the same for everyone, and it is rarely called into consciousness till you’re older. I think coming out of adolescence is in part a process of realizing how important it is: the dream to be real, to live grounded in reality, to have a life that is solid and reliable and that makes sense.

The loftier your Dream #1 is, the more Dream #2 tends to look like a mere negation. It will come to you couched in a sentence that starts with the word “But” and ends in dashing your hopes against the rocks. That, I want to suggest, is not the only way to approach the necessary task of relating these two dreams. They can be integrated. But it takes work and it takes help.

You have to realize that no matter how outlandish your first dream is, it is a huge “clue” (as Katie would say) to what you ought to do with your life. There is something valid and necessary at its core; there is something there that you are after; there is something in it that you really ought to pursue. 

We dream mostly in images, and only the most creative among us can dream in images we’ve never seen before. So someone says he wants to be an astronaut. He thinks that’s what he’s after because, out of everything that he’s seen, it is the role, the career, maybe the action figure that most embodies the much less tangible, the much more amorphous and elusive thing he really wants.

Depending on how old and “mature” he is, he has a greater or lesser sense of what it would actually take to make that dream happen, on the one hand, and a greater or lesser sense of the gritty reality of what that dream would demand of him were he actually able to realize it. No kid who dreams of being an astronaut is dreaming of the years of exhausting schooling and training, on the one hand, or the rote, monotonous drudgery that (I assume) fills up the vast expanses of time every astronaut spends not being in space.

But as the second dream grows in prominence—the dream to be real; the dream to have a real, adult life—it becomes a matter of letting the first dream, in all its particularity and naïveté, die, for a moment, and be reborn in a world governed by the laws of reality. 

I have come to believe, as I said, that at the core of every dream, even the most outlandish, there is something there worth saving and pursuing with everything you’ve got. The shell is what needs to go, and it’s not easy to let it go. It takes something like faith to know that when you let go of the particular form of the dream you’ve grown accustomed to, there will still be something there, something you really want, and something that you can pursue as a goal and finally get to.

To be continued...

Part I: "The Myth of Progress" by Joseph Coram

Twenty-five is not typically seen as a “difficult” year, and that’s part of what makes it so difficult. By the time you get there, you’re used to difficult years. It feels like being caught between phases of life, and it’s hard not to put yourself in drift and stay there. Both the resistance you’ve faced and the encouragement you’ve had as a young person back off at least a little, and without resistance or encouragement, it’s hard to find meaning.

From birth to age 18, or maybe age 22 if you go to college, life naturally has a sort of narrative character. Not everyone’s story is alike, but it seems like that span of time, for pretty much everyone, just feels like a story. While everyone’s story can be radically different—mine has been pretty unique—it’s largely the same structure for everyone. Each year means, developmentally, a particular set of challenges, and a particular vision for the near future.

Philosophers and theorists for the past several decades have focused a lot on how meaning is formed through narrative and many have concluded that stories—particularly our own stories and how we understand them—are where most of our sense of meaning comes from. In that sense, whether or not they realize it, young people have it pretty easy, at least for a while. Even if you don’t know where you’re heading, the fact that you have a trajectory—a built in direction, perhaps toward greater maturity—means you know reasonably well what to expect as the narrative progresses; and because it functions that way for most every young person, society has in part been structured around it. Your circumstances change; you change with them; and even with all the twists and turns and slip-ups and tragedies of growing up, you ultimately see, in your story, some form of progress. It is easy to believe you are heading somewhere definite, somewhere better than where you are now; it’s sort of programmed into you.

Another thing recent philosophers like to talk about is “the Enlightenment myth of progress”—the “Enlightenment” being the period after the Renaissance when modern science was developing, thinkers were turning toward reason as opposed to traditional religion, and democracy gained great prominence in Western society; and the “myth of progress” being this idea from that era that revolutionized our worldview in suggesting that society as a whole is improving and will continue to improve until we reach some sort of utopia in which all needs are met and dreams are realized and everyone gets along with everyone.

The reason philosophers like to talk about it is because they almost all agree that it’s not true. Further, they almost all agree that, however untrue the idea is, it’s still utterly pervasive among most people. I think technology has a lot to do with why many still find it plausible. To put it crudely, the man on the street thinks because the iPhone 5 is substantially better than the iPhone 4s, the whole world is moving in the right direction; whereas someone with some highlights of the twentieth century in mind—two world wars and a holocaust, for instance—is not so readily convinced things are improving. The Enlightenment’s “meta-narrative”—its grand, overarching story that says we’re getting better, is fiction.

But that fact has not made its way into the contexts that most significantly affect the worlds we grow up in. It’s still everywhere, and people still want to believe it, so it’s even harder to dislodge. The idea of progress makes particular sense to young people—even ones so young they can’t understand it—and it’s actually pretty reasonable for them to buy into it. Growing kids do see remarkable advances each year as they grow up and mature, physically, emotionally, psychologically, and so on. It’s easy to believe things are just supposed to get better.

My theory is, once you hit your mid-twenties, not only does progress become less obvious, but the whole idea of your life as a continuous story makes less and less sense, and you’re hard pressed to stay engaged and keep moving forward. As an adolescent you can be in drift and still move forward; the story itself carries you forward; but by the time you graduate, “in drift” no longer means “coasting”—something adults lament but ultimately condone in adolescents; it means something more like “stagnant.” From what I can tell, life does seem to pick up again once you’re in full-fledged adulthood, but that really doesn’t seem to begin until you’re about thirty—maybe until you have a spouse; maybe until you have kids. Mine certainly hasn’t started up again.

To be continued...

Beautiful Mind Alert!!

GollyGforce
"Result of an Amusing Memory"

My friend and former client, Joseph Coram, has many gifts.

But then, so do we all.

(How many times do I say that in this blog? Like, a million?!)

However, Joseph possesses one gift that I find particularly spectacular: his insight into the human experience.  After our conversations I always walk away with new ways of looking at age-old dilemmas. Fortunately, I discovered, he most beautifully expresses these thoughts through his writing.

Now, I like to fancy myself a fairly good writer on personal development issues, in that I can make random connections between my dog's goat-like tendencies and the challenges of career design. (It's a gift, I tell you!!)  Still, I consider writing just one of many tools I use to educate others on how to navigate the career world.

But Joseph?  He's the real deal. He writes circles around me, and if you ever have the opportunity to meet him you'd understand why: his nimble and luminous-yet humble- mind knows no bounds. And this mind, I decided, needed to be shared with Grow readers.

PRONTO.

Therefore I invited him to write an essay about his 25-year life experience from a millennial generation vantage point.  I asked him to explain to "The People Out There" (that would be you) how he is navigating his creative life as a twenty-something guy trying to make his way in the world. And, fortunately for all of us, he agreed.

His essay has three parts, so I'm therefore going to publish them as a three-part series (I took a HUGE leap on that choice,) starting with the next post.  I am sure you will appreciate his enlightening words as much as I do.

Enjoy!

-Katie

Songs to Live By: Carly Simon (Stuff that Dreams are Made of)

Sometimes my clients find that their current career path is actually pretty close to what they need to be doing. They realize, during our coaching sessions, that they have actually steered themselves in the right direction, but just need a few tweaks to make their careers and lives fulfilling.

Whenever this happens, I'm reminded of a song I sang in a benefit cabaret several years ago.  The show was entitled "Reflections on Life and Love," and this song, written and originally performed by Carly Simon, remains one of my favorites to this day.

Although Ms. Simon writes about rekindling a romantic love, I think the lyrics resonate beyond that. The song can remind us of the fact that what we have-in many aspects of our life- is sometimes exactly what we truly need. Perhaps we are right where we should be, even though it isn't exactly the exciting image we'd originally envisioned and dreamed up for ourselves.

In fact, when we stop and think about the achievements we've made, the relationships we've fostered and the people we've become, we realize that our lives are actually fuller and richer than the dreams we once conceived.

Perhaps we just have to "adjust the tuning" to invigorate ourselves once again.

"It's the Stuff that Dreams are Made Of"

by Carly Simon

Take a look around now

Change the direction

Adjust the tuning

Try a new translation

Don't look at your man in the same old way

Take a new picture

Just because you don't see shooting stars

Doesn't mean it isn't perfect

Can't you see...

It's the stuff that dreams are made of

It's the slow and steady fire

It's the stuff that dreams are made of

It's your heart and soul's desire

It's the stuff that dreams are made of

So what's this about your best friend?

She's got a brand new shiny boy

And they're moving out to Malibu

To play with all his pretty toys

And you feel closed in by the same four walls

The same old conversation

With the same old guy you've know for years

But use your imagination

And you will see....

It's the stuff that dreams are made of

It's the slow and steady fire

It's the stuff that dreams are made of

It's your heart and soul's desire

It's the stuff that dreams are made of

What if the Prince on the horse in your fairytale

Is right here in disguise

And what if the stars you've been reaching so high for

Are shining in his eyes

Don't look at yourself in the same old way

Take another picture

Shoot the stars off in your own backyard

Don't look any further

And you will see

It's the stuff that dreams are made of....

Check out the video!

Turning to a New Year

A college friend once told me that a career is like "a book with many chapters." And though that conversation was a few years ago and I've since dabbled with countless career metaphors, I honestly can't think of a better analogy.  It's so good, in fact, that I believe it can capture the experience of living as well.

A really great life, like a really good book, takes us on a journey. We, the protagonists, seek fulfillment in one form or another.  In our quest we encounter many obstacles along the way but somehow we always find new ways to use our inner strengths to leap over those roadblocks.  We silence the demons of self-doubt, deceive the army of naysayers and slay the dragons of defeat.

Throughout the many chapters of our lives, we survive many changes, losses and heartaches.  But we keep moving forward towards our quest for fulfillment and human connection, which takes on new meaning, growing in spirit, strength and confidence.

At least that's how the story is supposed to go...

But as 2013 is now upon me, beckoning me to move forward, I find myself hesitating. I think about the chapters in my own book of life- especially the part where I play Mommy- and how much I resist turning the page to see what lies ahead.  I don't want to let those nostalgic chapters go, even though they're already long gone. All that remains is my bare wistfulness.

I cling to the experiences of my children as little ones: of a tiny hand just able to grasp my index finger, chubby little thighs that smell so good after a nice warm bath.  I sort through pictures of yesteryear and wonder: how did the belly-laughs, the lullabies, the toothless smiles at my singing, the soothing vibrations of a sleeping baby on my chest get swallowed up by the passage of time?  Where do these experiences go? Do they evaporate into the ether when my memory can't quite hold on to them anymore- when I can't hear these moments anymore... or feel them or smell them?

Even the best photographs are no match for the power of the senses.

It's not that I want my children to be babies anymore.  As most parents would concur- so please excuse my hackneyed insight here- I am so grateful that I've conquered the stage of feeding/burping/changing diapers/schlepping around a million things for a meager trip to the grocery store- a trip which, by the way, takes an hour rather than the 12 minutes it would take going solo.  I don't miss the the despair and befuddlement I felt as they lay crying due to the fact that, lacking any type of formal communication, they couldn't tell me what was wrong.

(And then language came, which has now enabled them to tell me everything that is wrong.)

So what is it about the passage of time, the fleeting nature of experience, that allows me to avoid looking ahead and turning to the next chapter?  Is it merely the fact that something only happens once?  Even if that something tried my patience and disrupted my sleep schedule?

I think we all hang on to things just for the sake of hanging on, even if it's not something we truly want to keep in our lives. The only thing that we're really grasping is familiarity.  We know what the past and present look like.  We don't know what the future holds, even though it could be the best experience we will have ever had.

If my kids had stayed little, I'd never have been able to see all of the great stuff of today.  Like my daughter's amazing gift for storytelling, her fascination with books, her beautiful artwork and uncanny imagination. I would've missed taking her to New York at Christmastime and seeing her peer through the exquisitely designed windows at Bergdorf's.  I would've missed sharing with her the magic of watching a great show on Broadway.

And I wouldn't have been able to see my son wake up in the morning and head straight to the advent  calendar to count down the days to Christmas.  Or help him transform his room to a Spider Man lair and answer his infinite questions about super heroes.

(And by "answer" I mean, "You'll have to ask Daddy about that one.")

So I suppose I should embrace growing, especially since that IS the name of this blog. Therefore I'm dedicating this year, 2013, to moving forward. To growing.  To turning the page to see what lies ahead.

In order to accomplish this goal I know I'll need to keep reminding myself that, like in any good story, there's always a big twist.  It often happens at the height of the protagonist's struggles, when she feels she doesn't have anything yet to give or look forward to. When the past looks like all that's worth hanging on to.  But in the next chapter she emerges, almost miraculously, fulfilled in ways she never imagined.  Which gives her the confidence that, no matter what dragons lie ahead, she'll slay them too.

Sounds like a job for Spider Woman, don't you think?

The Dog Ate My Birthday Cake and Other Tales of Woe

Just when you think ya know a gal...

My precious angel turned against me in what can only be described as a moment of weakness.  Cloey Margaret, my beloved Golden Retriever , decided that she too should eat cake in honor of my recent birthday.  So, the day after I turned 42, Cloey privately celebrated by devouring what was left of my scrumptious vanilla-with-caramel-frosting birthday cake, generously made by my sister. We'd only managed to consume about a quarter of the decadent gateau the night before, so you do the math.

Interestingly, my beloved showed no signs of remorse, nor did her so-called "sensitive" tummy.

Could she actually be... smiling?!

To add to my woes, I've had bronchitis for what's now going on five weeks this summer.  Yes, you heard me correctly, this S-U-M-M-E-R.  Not during the dead of winter, mind you, when these upper respiratory infections run rampant and occur due to "cool, dry uncirculated air" or "kids." But rather, in July and August when it's sunny and humid and warm and full of jolly good romps outdoors in the sprinkler.

To say I'm sick of coughing is an understatement. Moreover, I long for a respite from inhaler puffs and teaspoons of foul tasting cough medicine. I yearn for an end to the back aches, caused by intense hack-a-thons. It's time for it all this bronchial nonsense to END. Yes, E-N-D. My body is tired and sick and sick and tired. I want to be able to just go back to worrying about worrying how I look at the pool. At least I wasn't coughing then.

(It's all relative, isn't it?)

I've asked ... excuse me while I hack up this right lung... okay better ... for some pep talks from family, because I've felt kinda down.  Not only am I not getting enough sleep from coughing, I also don't like questioning if there's an end in sight- although my pep rally peeps assure me there is.  I want to feel good again, and helpful and productive and energetic. I'm sure you can recognize these most basic of needs.

But until I reach the end of the tunnel, I find that just reaching out to people close to me helps me keep my spirits up.  Sharing my frustrations, keeping the whining-about-wheezing to a minimum of course, essentially communicates, "Let me just tell you where I am right now.  Let me tell you how crappy I feel so that you can give me at least one vote of confidence."

My husband, sister and parents are especially good at giving me votes of confidence. They don't even need to provide me with any answers, because an empathetic ear and heartfelt encouragement are really what I'm after.

(Okay, and maybe a hug or two.)

As a bonus they also offer me different perspectives on my seemingly hopeless situation.  For instance, they remind me of when I felt REALLY crappy, as opposed to JUST crappy, which I've needed to be reminded of lately.

Career Woes

Support especially proves essential when it comes to career challenges and lows.  When you have someone in your corner of the proverbial boxing ring, tirelessly cheering for you, it seems that nothing can get in your way, even those setbacks that seem insurmountable.  Outside encouragement wages war against the inner and outer critics trying to sabotage your carefully plodded efforts.  It also helps to calm your fears and put worries in perspective.

The most effective support comes in the form of a system, from sources as varied as the cheerleaders themselves, each of whom possess entirely different strengths. Here are my top five support types - we'll call them, "The Fan Club"- who are integral to your success.

1) The Mentors Although nurturing teachers and professors may certainly fill this role, finding a successful, inspirational professional within your field (or related to it) can enable you to make huge strides. A great mentor (such as mine) gives you immensely useful feedback, playing the role of coach, motivator, and muse. These individuals get what you are trying to do (often times because they've been in your shoes themselves) and want nothing more than to help you succeed.

2) The Collaborators These are the invaluable friends and family who help you in many different ways.  Sometimes they just listen, sometimes they offer suggestions you've never considered.  Some (but not all!) may understand where you'd like to go career-wise and empower you in whatever way they can.

Their help may take the form of assisting you with direct career needs, such as connecting you to their friends in your desired business. Or they may help you with the small business tasks you don't have time to do.  Often times, they can help you out personally by doing favors such as babysitting your kids (or pets!) while you look for a job, grow your business or travel for work. As long as you outwardly appreciate their help and assist them whenever possible, the collaboration runs smoothly.

3) The Constructive Realists These people do a great job of helping you manage your expectations of yourself, reminding you that setting unrealistic goals can mean setting yourself up for failure. Naturally objective types, they point out that certain career expectations have little or no logical basis, such as those statements that have the word "should" in them (as in "I should be employed by now!" or  "I should be making x amount of money at my age.") Constructive Realists are the kind but evenhanded folks that help you separate emotional conjecture from objective analysis.  They may ask you how you're specifically improving your situation but also ask you to ascertain what beyond your control.

4) The Bottom Liners A very integral part of your support system must include, of course, the people that may not be hand holders or fans so to speak, but get you the job or work or connections you seek.  These also tend to be the people that require you to take the initiative and ask for their help. If you don't tell people what you need, what you care about doing and where you are stumbling, they can't help you; it's really pretty simple.

The Bottom Liners can nimbly get to the nuts and bolts of what you are seeking to accomplish. Headhunters, business group members, career coaches*, professional associations and acquaintances may fall into this category.

*Good coaches actually fall under all five of these categories.

5) The Confidence Booster This is my personal favorite and a priceless member of The Fan Club. One of the best cheerleaders out there is a friend and/or family member that simply adores you and everything you do. This is the fan that, without any pretext, gives you a surge of unbridled confidence and self-esteem.  Their encouragement makes you feel like a million bucks. Of course, they are the most subjective of the group, but that can feel quite refreshing compared to the requisite objectivity of the others in your Fan Club. So if you have one of those in your pocket, try to connect with this person regularly.  They'll give you the boost of adrenaline you need to keep going.

My dear grandmother was a first rate Confidence Booster.  She always said the nicest things about whatever I was doing in my life.  I could have been stealing cars and selling them for drug money and she would have said, "Oh, honey.  You SHOULD do that.  You are really good at it." She was my biggest fan and that was gold to me.  Especially since she passed away, I try my best to remember her enthusiasm and think, when I'm a little down on my achievements, "What would Grandma have said to me?" (answer: that "I'm the best career coach in the world!") I also try to be that kind of fan to others, because everyone needs that kind of unabashed, unconditional support from time to time.

Moving On... I Hope

As part of my continued commitment to reaching out to others for support, I ask you to wish me luck in my recovery.

And, just curious, do you think that Cloey's quite possibly paying me back for last Easter's, ahem, incident?

Clashing.. Lots of Clashing

When it comes to weather reports, springtime packs in some real doozies.

A bit of a weather.com junkie, I happened upon the following text a few weeks ago:

"Air masses clash as spring tries to take control while winter does its best to fend off spring's advances. It's that clash of air masses which lead to the development of storm systems across the country.  What is the result?  A little bit of winter (snow) and a little bit of spring (thunderstorms)."

Kinda cool, huh? 

Well, if you don't think it's cool, you are not allowed to be in the weather.com junkie club.

(Note: I'm sure this exclusion causes you much angst and consternation.)

Clashes happen all around us.  At work, at home, at school....  I really like the word, "clash," I suppose,  not only because it sounds utterly dramatic, it's also quite versatile.  It can indicate a fight between two or more individuals, a weather system collision or, in the context of clothing AND weather, outfits that clash louder than thunder.  For example, you should have seen the get-ups my little sister used to wear.  Talk about doozies!  She was lucky we were in the 70's, when self-expression was en vogue.

I've found that working identities, or non-working, as the case may be, can clash as well.  They often resemble the push pull of the weather:  an old career identity tries hard to prevent the new identity from coming in.  It doesn't want to disappear, as well it shouldn't.  After all, an identity is all about being itself and not someone or something else.

During my lifetime I have survived many identity clashes.  Below I describe the good, the bad, and the downright ugly:


1.  Corporate Identity

When I was in my early 20's, the need to live up to other peoples' expectations still dictated many of my decisions.  I had to make my family proud, show my friends my worth, both financially and as a competent human being.  I had to show everyone how strong and capable I was by going after whatever I felt was worth having.  I took the most ambitious, well-paid corporate job I could get right out of college.  I didn't know who I was or what I wanted or what I was really good at doing, but at least someone had given me an identity to hang on to, in the form of a job title and a paycheck.

As the years went by I began to realize that my corporate identity was essentially a hat that I was trying to wear for my portrayal of "a successful business woman."  (Sounds like a bit part in a movie, doesn't it?)  Oh, and I also figured out that no one but me truly cared what I did for a career.  I was the one spending 60 hours a week doing something that didn't engage me at all, not my parents, not my friends, not anyone I'd tried to impress in the first place.

With a new found freedom from societal expectations, I thought I'd go completely 360 and try doing something I knew would engage me more than the corporate world:  the theatre.  I'd always acted on the side, so, with my student loans paid off, I decided to give the exciting world of performing art a try.

2.  Artistic Identity 

Once I got out of the business world and into the artistic world I realized that I was starting from scratch.  Yes, the environment was more up my alley;  however, I had no prior acting experience other than community theatre.  So here I was, someone who used to earn a lot of money and respect, now answering phones at a small theatre company in the middle of nowhere.  (And did I mention that I commuted over an hour each way to do this job?)  My identity here was definitely in-the-making:  I wasn't even considered a professional actress yet, just a receptionist who was trying to crack the acting market, figuring out how the acting scene worked.

A couple of years later I reached my coveted professional actor status, and therefore grew into a new working identity.  Still, I had to go back and forth between performing at top theatres at night and on the weekends while answering phones and filing during the day.  At least some of the time I felt true to my working identity.

3. Maternal Identity

I struggled harder with this identity clash even more than going from #1 to #2.  I loved my newborn baby and being her mommy, but I really didn't like (and I actually still don't) being called "a mom."  All of a sudden people would come up to me and say, "Hey there, Mom!  Looks like you've got your hands full there," or "Ewww, Mom, smells like a diaper needs to be changed."

I began to think, "Hmmm... just a few weeks ago I believe I was a human being with a name."

Furthermore, I realized, for the first time, that I could not say that I did anything.  I didn't want to go back to acting because it wasn't conducive to having a newborn baby.  I had no idea what I was going to do except be a mom:  change diapers and whatever else new moms did.  I was just... me.  And what the heck did that mean?  The clashing titans were two polar opposite identities:  the actress me and the just-another-mom me.

If I'd had a stronger sense of self I don't think the "mom calling" would've really bothered me.  In fact, now that I have a much clearer understanding of my strengths, a career path I enjoy (see #4) and, in turn, a stronger identity, I don't even notice when someone says "mom."  This comfort level can be attributed to the fact that time has allowed me to grow into this new identity;  however, having a nice variety of professional and personal goals largely contributes to my mental health.


4.  Professional/Personal Identity or Coming Full Circle

Although I can't say it's been devoid of doubt, growing pains and fear, having my own business while simultaneously taking care of two little ones has felt very natural and fulfilling.  Sure, I feel torn some times, but overall I couldn't ask for a better situation:  I have my own schedule, I love what I do, I can spend time with my children, husband and friends, and I can grow my business as slowly or as quickly as I'd like.  My life and my career complement each other, and I generally find a lot of overlap socially, which is immensely satisfying to me.

Furthermore, I have come full circle, meaning that I am using all of the experiences along my journey ( #'s 1-3.)  For my coaching practice, I use the business training and skills acquired in the corporate world along with the creative process I honed during my artistic life.  I use my experience with past career frustration to help others.  And, being the lifelong learner that I am, I am always educating myself both formally and on my own.

As for my child-rearing practice?  For that I get out the big guns: negotiating techniques from my sales and account management days and mindfulness meditation from my acting training.  And if those techniques fail, give me a margarita with salt.  Then I don't care who colored her bed purple or put Spider Man in the DVD player.  It's all cool...

Via Flikr

Besides, I can relax now that I've discovered I can just be myself, and that's really cool... almost aas cool as weather.com, but not quite.