What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
Red velvet ropes in all the right places.
Rowr.
Well, you just can’t talk biggification without getting into the whole red velvet rope thing.
Because growing your thing (the thing!) in a mindful way without burning yourself out means … having boundaries.
And making them sexy.
But first, I need to explain a bunch of stuff.
Red velvet ropery: what is it?
The red velvet rope is a concept I borrowed from Michael Port.
For me, it’s about distinctions and healthy boundaries.
And really, it includes anything you say or do that results in making your Right People feel welcome, while helping your non-right-people understand that their thing is … somewhere else.
Wheee! Let’s have an example.
Okay. Selma?
She’s the best red velvet rope in the entire world.
I have a duck. I am a biggified blah blah expert whose business partner is a duck.
People who get it and think it’s cool are totally in.
People who think it’s stupid, or suspect that she’s — ewwwwwwwwwww — some kind of marketing ploy, are out. But not because I have to ask them to leave or anything. They just self-select out. They don’t stick.
Having red-velvet-rope Selma around (and let’s be honest, I don’t do anything without her) turns out to be a great way to help people find their way in or out.
Here’s another one.
As everyone knows, I’m having a totally-not-secret secret love affair with Naomi. And one of her red velvet ropes is that she curses like a sailor.
She is a fabulous potty-mouth.
People who don’t dig that leave. Fast. But people who think it’s hysterical to read smart, foul-mouthed business advice will read anything she writes.
Sure, she’s also smart, funny and really, really sweet. And knows what she’s talking about.
But to be in, you have to choose to be in.
Naomi and I aren’t marching around saying “you get in if you’re like this and this” or “go away if you aren’t blah blah blah“.
Because we don’t have to.
So: is the red velvet rope the best metaphor in the world?
Meh. It has some problematic bits.
On the one hand, the red velvet rope thing contains all kinds of good elements. Like these:
[+ boundary] [+ sexy] [+ value] [+ self-selecting]
But it also has some problematic stowaways*. Like [+ divisive] [+ snobby]
We definitely don’t want our red velvet ropiness to be obnoxious.
*“Stowaways” are a Suzette Haden Elgin concept — read her book The Last Word on the Gentle Art of Verbal Self Defense for more on what I’m talking about here.
The most common misconception.
It’s easy to make the mistake of thinking a red velvet rope will make you come across as diva-ey or a total snob — that’s it’s about saying haha I’m in and you’re not.
But that’s not it.
It is about distinctions, but again — in a positive way.
Your red velvet rope is about showing your Right People that you have a place for them, and making them welcome.
The keeping-out part of the distinction is also useful — for keeping out the shoe-throwers and general asshats.
But ideally, the intention of the rope thing is to wave enthusiastically (hi!) to your Right People, to help them see that this is somewhere they can feel at home.
Don’t do this.
The boring way that people try to apply this is by (yawn) having a niche or talking to a “target market”.
So yeah, technically speaking … saying that you only work with “former journalists between the ages of 45 and 60 who live in the greater Chicago area” is a red velvet rope.
But it’s a stupid rope — the kind that doesn’t necessarily fit your Right People. I mean, what if I’m 37 and in Sheboygan but we would totally hit it off? Or what if I’m exactly in that group you described but we don’t madly adore each other? Not interesting. Not useful.
No, a good red velvet rope is something that gives the kind of people you like being around that tingly feeling of “oooh, oooh, oooh, this is for me!”
More about the ropes.
If it’s on your dammit list, it’s a red velvet rope.
For example, I don’t put gushy testimonials on my “hey, I’m doing a retreat” pages, dammit.
Not because I don’t have any. Anyone who has been to one of my live programs will say that this is a not-to-be-missed experience that makes everything in your life better.
It’s because I’m not interested in making some big market-ey point of telling people how great it’s going to be. I don’t want to push it or sell it or make a huge deal out of it.
I really want only the people who already suspect how great it’s going to be.
This means that a lot of people are going to self-select out. They want me to convince them, and I’m just not going to. And that’s fine.
My red velvet rope in this particular situation is you only get in if you’re someone who already gets it.
For a different kind of program I might have a different red velvet rope. But for retreats? The convincing-ey thing is not going to happen.
Taking the red velvet rope thing to somewhere slightly more extreme.
I’ve been playing with this a lot. Experimenting.
And for my Next Big Thing (which, by the way, has a name — it’s called Biggification 2010), there is mad red-velvet-ropery going on.
It will be the hardest to get into of any program I’ve ever done. There will be prerequisites and an application and phone interviews.
This is not to be bitchy and mean. It’s to be supportive of my Right People and to have super-clear boundaries.
More importantly, I won’t be doing anything to try to get people in. I will welcome the ones who are in, but I’m sure as hell not making it easy on people.
More about being inclusive.
There are different levels of Right People.
So not everything you do is going to speak to all of your Right People.
Someone can like me and not be a Shivanaut, and still be a Right Person.*
*Though if you show up at a Retreat? We’ll be shiva-ing it up and then we will laugh about how horrible it is … together!
Some people are going to be right there in the inner circle of Right-People-ness, and some people are going to be out around the edges.
Still right. Still a great fit. Just not the absolute most-PERFECTLY-right-ever overlap. There’s room for so many kinds of Right People within the bigger orbit of Mostly Right People.
But either way, here’s the important part:
Having boundaries and distinctions doesn’t need to be about being a diva. It’s about being clear on what you want and need.
It’s about being clear on what will support and sustain you as you bring your thing into the world.
Yeah.
Ahhhh. Now we’re at the core thing. Support.
You want your thing (your business, your poetry, your dancing, whatever it is) to get to the people who need it, even if you don’t know who they are yet.
You want your thing to go out into the world and do what it needs to do.
And that means that you and your thing need support.
You need to feel safe, supported and loved so that your thing can be sustainable. So that you don’t end up in emotional-breakdown land.
If you’re not taking steps to make sure that what you’re doing supports you (whether that’s financially or emotionally or spiritually or any possible combination of ways), it’s going to hurt.
Red velvet ropes are one more important piece of that support system. They exist to support you, so that you can keep doing your thing.
And that is huge.
Comment zen for today …
Stupid biggification! It’s hard and scary and brings up all of our stuff. Sorry about that.
Luckily, this concept is something you get to play with and make work for you. And if it doesn’t work for you, you have my permission to toss it.
EDIT! I can’t believe I forgot to mention this, but yes. All this red velvet rope stuff (and the Right People concept) is not just for biggification. It holds for relationships, friends, dating, work … really, anything that involves interacting with the outside world.
Very Personal Ads #21: this table is not even slightly vain.
Personal ads! They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.
Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which united me with Hoppy House, I have been a fan of the madness that is personal ads.
And now it’s my Sunday ritual. Yay, ritual!
Let’s do it.
Thing 1: Right People for my Destuckification Retreat.
Here’s what I want:
This is a weird one.
I haven’t told anyone about this yet, because I need to tell the secret list first.
And I feel bad not telling the secret list, because the entire reason it exists is because my programs will sell out in a day or two, and then people miss out.
Of course, if I tell my list, then the program will sell out anyway before I can even announce its existence.
So yes. I feel conflicted.
But either way, people will find out about it this week. They can go to the events page and mark off the dates and drool over how fabulous it’s going to be.
They can sign up for the secret list while they’re there. Or not.
Ways this could work:
Everyone who has been on a retreat/workshop/afternoon-thing with me and knows how crazy-wonderful it is can remember the way it changes everything. For the better.
The excitement can build. The people who need this can find their way to it.
Everything can happen in the right time. Or in good timing. Or I can remember that there is time.
That would be good.
My commitment.
To trust the weird, wonderful process that is retreating.
To hunker down and get the last details taken care of.
To ask for help when I need it.
To remember how much support I have in what I do, even when I go into my completely forgetting that there’s support pattern.
To have fun with it.
Thing 2: A vanity table.
Here’s what I want:
There is this funny tiny little room (not a closet but maybe a roomlet?) off of the bathroom in Hoppy House.
And it is completely empty.
My joke has always been that it’s where the vanity table should go but since I am extremely low maintenance and it takes me all of two minutes to get ready … that would be silly.
However, it is no longer silly.
Because I discovered on my North Carolina trip that if you sit down to get dolled up (even if the dolling only takes 45 seconds), it’s easier.
Plus I just want it. So that’s it.
I want a retro vanity table for the weird little room within the bathroom. It has little cubbies or cabinet-ey things and a gorgeous mirror. And a seat.
Here’s how this could work:
Craigslist.
Magic.
Someone could make a recommendation, have the right one, know of the right one.
It could find me.
I could do some sort of Ikea hack, which would be awesome.
My commitment.
To get used to this idea of me-having-a-vanity-table. Me! What?!
To stop getting hung up on the idea that it means I’m vain, even though it has the word vanity right in it. Clearly it’s referring to the table and not to me.
I know that.
To stop being so insane. Okay, I can’t promise that. But I’m working on it. Kind of.
Thing 3: Support for the Blonde Chicken!
Here’s what’s going on:
You all know about Tara the Blonde Chicken because I write about her all the time.
She’s also someone who has had mad biggification successes this year thanks to the Kitchen Table program.*
We’ve watched her go from “eek, I could never leave my job but would love to in a few years” to doing it, and turning her thing into a full-time fabulous business.
And in one of our post-teleclass chatroom goofball extravaganzas, everyone was bugging Tara about how she should be teaching them to knit.
Because we love love love her gorgeous yarn, and don’t know what to do with it.
And since she wasn’t about to fly to Australia or Scotland or wherever to actually show them how to knit, they talked her into making a kit. And planned the whole thing. Together.
Tara says:
“Whenever I’ve gotten stuck (what pattern should I include?) or needed encouragement (I just don’t feel like it!), I’ve gone to the Table and the Table has supported me completely.
“I would never have ventured into this project without the Table and I am so clear that this is the right thing for my right people and for my business! Yay!”
Yay indeed. And now her Learn to Knit Kit exists. And she wants it to find its right people.
*For the record. Normally I would never out a Kitchener, because we are huge on confidentiality — in this case Tara specifically told me that she was cool with me talking about this.
Ways this could work.
This is possibly the best holiday gift in the entire world.
And I know there are a lot of people who want to be knitting fansocks for me and scarves for Selma …
So I’m going to make a wish for seed-planting. For all the right people to find her kit and to connect other right people with it too. Because this deserves to thrive.
My commitment.
To express how joyful I am to see someone doing her thing in this really beautiful way.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
Last week I asked for rest and recovery after the exhausting-but-fabulous Barbara Sher retreat.
I got some. Not enough. But the transition is working. And I’m doing my best to pay attention to what I need and when I need it. More please!
I asked for help with a conversation I didn’t want to have that I was really upset about. I didn’t have the conversation. But I did take care of business. And I wrote a hard letter. And I found a new bookkeeper.
So all that is huge progress related to the uncomfortable thing.
And I asked for a group of Right People for the second year of my Kitchen Table program. There are now over eighty people just on the waiting list.
I might need a waiting list for the waiting list. It’s insane. So. Very happy about that, and will be making progress on the applications soon! Hooray.
Comments. Since I’m already asking …
I am adding to my practice of asking for stuff by being more specific about what I would like to receive in the comments. And that way, if you feel like leaving one (you totally don’t have to), you get to be part of this experiment too. 🙂
Here’s what I want (just leave them in the comments):
- Your own personal ads, small or large. Things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for. Or updates on last time!
What I would rather not have:
- Reality theories.
- Shoulds. As in, “You should be doing it like this” or “That’s not the right way to ask for things — instead it should be like x, y and z”
- To be judged or psychoanalyzed.
My commitment.
I am committing to getting better at asking for things even when asking feels weird. I commit to giving time and thought to the things that people say, and to interact with their ideas and with my own stuff as compassionately and honestly as is possible.
Thanks for doing this with me!
Friday Chicken #68: those robot crustaceans, eh?
Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
Ayyyyiiiiiii. What a week.
Thank Goodness It’s The Chicken.
Let’s do it!
The hard stuff
Uncomfortable conversations.
And putting them off.
One of them I’d been wanting to have for months, but have been so upset about it and couldn’t find a way to have a non-upset conversation.
After all that time hoping I’d be able to find the right way to do it, I decided to just go ahead and have the really upset conversation.
And then I decided I was too upset to do it.
Ending relationships.
Some of this was really hard/sad because I didn’t want something to end.
And some of it was hard/sad because I have no idea what took me so long.
Inner turmoil related to conversations and relationships not working.
I spent most of Sunday night crying instead of sleeping.
Really crappy.
Blah blah, transition.
This is really practically a permanent Friday Chicken item at this point, so you’d think I’d get used to everything being in transition all the damn time but no. Still sucks, thank you very much.
It’s not so much the changes I mind (since the way I play business is very much about innovation and form-shifting), but the repositioning that takes place after the changes.
I let about half my staff go this week, which is an important part of the latest transition, and it was really, really hard for everyone involved.
I’ve known for a long time that I need the pirate ship to be way more streamlined, but it’s been hard for me to do.
Very painful. Very uncomfortable. Totally the right thing, but not fun.
Scary pattern.
A year ago I did a stupid, not-thinking, messed up thing. A mistake.
And then yesterday (a year — to the day, almost to the hour), the same mistake. Exactly the same mistake.
Nothing is hurt but my pride, thank goodness. And it didn’t involve anyone but me. But it was still weird and freaky, and started messing with my head.
The gentleman friend being worried about things.
This transition stuff is taking its toll. And when he worries, I worry. And this is not a good time for me to be worried.
Dancing class getting way too hard.
I keep missing classes because of all the mad traveling.
And then the catching-up is so not working. Feeling stupid and uncoordinated. I know, that’s supposed to be something I’m good at. But it’s still painful.
The good stuff
Presents!
Just when I was feeling most miserable and sleep-deprived and not-able-to-stop-crying, presents!
An especially marvelous Pirate Queen necklace (with a duck — can you believe it?) from Insane Jellyfish???
And an assistant for Selma from Romilly (Romilly-who-made-me-socks).
It was excellent up-cheering, and right on time.
The Communicatrix!
Colleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen! Came for a visit!
And so we got to a. spend time with one of my favorite biscuit-ey people and b. turn the study into a guest room. Totally worked.
Plus it was half an answer to a Very Personal Ad she wrote a few weeks ago. How about that?
I rewrote a page that was bugging me.
Have been meaning to redo a lot of stuff on the Shiva Nata site, especially now that we’re sponsoring Roller Derby!
And not getting around to it. Blech.
So this week I just kind of casually rewrote the main page, and it feels so much better. Whew.
Hiro.
Since I spent half the week out-flipping over all these Things Going Wrong, I needed help.
And Hiro was so sweet and reassuring … and managed to sneak in emergency sessions for me and just be a good friend and a smart destuckifier.
I feel so supported and cared for and loved. It’s really great.
My favorite thing.
Every once in a while I throw an Ask Havi Anything call at the Kitchen Table.
These are so much fun.
You wouldn’t believe the stuff people ask. But it’s all extremely entertaining. And useful. And I surprise myself with occasional accidental smartnesses.
Not needing to promote things.
Thank god, because I hate promoting things and refuse to do it, dammit.
I was really getting worried that I’d have to talk up my Kitchen Table program to get the right people to sign up for next year.
But most people there are staying. And there were seventy people on the freaking waiting list before I even got around to thinking about how I would promote it if I had to.
Whew.
And … playing live at the meme beach house!
Yes, that’s a Stuism too.
My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”
And the fake band of the week is:
Pimping Robot Crustaceans.
I got this from Melle who is @melle on Twitter, and I don’t think context can help this one.
But I can definitely assure you that it’s … just one guy.
And … STUISMS of the week. They’re back.
Stu is my paranoid McCarthy-ist voice-to-text software who delights in torturing me misunderstanding me. I can’t stand him.
- “aiming timing charming” of instead of timing timing timing
- “productivity is groovy you people” instead of productivity guru-ey people
- “Denver Brie assurances” instead of time for reassurances
- “arresting the entire herald” instead of the best thing in the entire world
- “Oh Bosnia curried fabulousness” instead of allows me to curate fabulousness
- “think batsmen grumble parable books I’ve fetch testicle and are” instead of CrankyPants McGrumbleBug’s Kvetchtastic Whine Bar
- “pimping your rubble to stress stations” instead of pimping robot crustaceans
That’s it for me …
And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.
Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?
And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.
Timing timing timing.
I keep seeing this “timestamp” thing freaking my people out.
You know, setting a date for something. This is when it’s finally happening.
Because, you know, the productivity guru-ey people need you to say that whatever it is you’re busy not-doing is — despite all odds — actually going to happen.
And not only going to happen, but going to happen by a specific date.
Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Especially if it works for you. Yay — stuff that works!
But if having a date on something makes you want to throw up?
Let’s talk about that.
Totally understandable.
Sometimes having a timestamp on something makes you want to throw up because ohmygod it’s going to happen and I’m not ready.
And sometimes having the timestamp makes you want to throw up because ohmygod that’s like, two years from now and what if I can’t make it that long?!
Either way, it doesn’t really matter.
The point is that it’s time for reassurances!
Reassurances!
Point 1: You’re allowed to feel panicked and terrified.
Whatever you’re feeling is a legitimate thing to feel. Always.
Wanting to throw up = normal.
Point 2: Timestamps are malleable.
Here’s the thing.
Life is a weirdly dynamic process. Things shift and change. As we all pretty much know, that’s just how they are.
To paraphrase the Dude, new shit can come to light.
Which means?
Just because you’re saying right now that a thing is going to happen in X amount of time doesn’t mean it has to. It might. But it doesn’t have to.
Setting the date is just to help you feel supported — like the thing you’re thinking about might actually turn out to be a real thing.
But if that’s bringing on the scary? Skip it. It’s just pretend. It can happen sooner. It can happen later.
The point is to make space for it to happen with timing that’s right for you. You can change the date as many times as you need to. Or life will change it for you.
Point 3: You’re almost always wrong anyway.
Ow. I know, that’s not really reassuring. But it is kind of.
Oh, examples. I have some.
When I was a bartender in Tel Aviv and I really, really, really wanted to be not-a-bartender in Berlin, I needed a timestamp.
It had been ten years. I wanted out of the Middle East. I wanted out of the bars. I wanted out period.
The problem is that I was earning minimum wage — which translated to about $3/hour. If I worked overtime and didn’t spend money on anything other than rent and the bare minimum of food, I could save, oh, about a dollar a month.
So my five year plan was … kind of depressing. And not very viable. But I clung to it.
My whole plan was based on all sorts of assumptions about what I needed in order to make the changes. And, as is so often the case with assumptions, I was wrong about all of them.
Because we know nothing about nothing.
It didn’t take five years. It took one year. It was a hellish year, yes. But it was a year.
I had a timestamp. And the timestamp wasn’t all that relevant. What was relevant was the dream. The thing I was giving myself permission to ask for.
Point 4: Things often do happen in the right time.
Maybe not always. I don’t know. A lot.
And the best way that I know to try and remember this easily-forgettable-thing is to ask for the perfect, simple solution.
Like this:
“Okay. Even though I’m not sure I actually believe that things can happen in the right timing for me, I am open to the perfect simple solution.
“I might not be convinced that such a thing even exists, but if there is a perfect, simple solution, it is officially invited to show up. Or even many perfect simple solutions.
“And even though lots of things in my life have happened in really crappy timing, I am reminding myself that I am allowed to think that things generally suck.
“I do not have to turn into someone annoyingly positive in order to be open to the possibility that this particular thing might happen in the right time, structure and sequence.
“And if it doesn’t, then whatever happens will probably turn out to have been good timing too, so I’m going to stop stressing over this if I can. Or give myself some more time with this if I can’t.
“I know it feels really urgent right now that everything work out in the exact right way, and I’m just going to try and remember that when I pay attention to what I need, things work better.”
Well, that’s how I do it.
Your version can be way less ramble-ey.
Point 5: There’s time.
Really.
It’s not like we’re going to stop freaking out all the time.
Maybe just some of the time.
But there are two important things going on here:
- If you want to biggify your thing, you gotta work on your stuff. Hence all the destuckification work that we do here.
- Working on your stuff is not the kind of thing that gets a “timestamp”. It’s something you do. It’s part of having a conscious, intelligent, non-jerky relationship with yourself.
So you keep doing it. And you use that work to stay grounded.
That’s so when you do set a date for something, and you want to hide under your desk and cry, you know it’s going to be okay.
You know that you’re allowed to give yourself permission to want to throw up. You know that perfect simple solutions are going to make themselves known. You know that you can handle it even if they don’t.
In the meantime, you get to practice remembering that freaking out doesn’t mean you don’t want to do the thing. Just like how avoidance doesn’t mean that either.
And you get to take your time with it.
Comment zen for today …
We all have stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We’re practicing.
Things I’ve learned: Kitchen Table Edition
So. I scribble a running List of Useful Stuff whenever my duck and I are teaching a program. 40% journal. 60% strategizing tool.
We use the same basic breakdown as in the Friday Chicken of dividing stuff into the hard and the good, so I know what to do differently next time … and what was an accidental stroke of genius.
I shared one of these lists with you guys after the North Carolina Wacky Brain Training Weekend.
And I’m doing it again. This time with my Kitchen Table program.
And in case you missed my love letter a couple weeks ago, I love the Kitchen Table. Madly. But I still have a list. A useful one.
Important disclaimer:
This post is not even slightly a “hey, you should sign up for it” thing because ew. Also because I already have 70 people on the damn waiting list, which is plenty.
Most of the people who joined in 2009 are staying, so I don’t even know if the waiting-list-ers are going to get in this year.
So this post is a way for me to process what I’ve learned from running this program for a year. And to help you learn from some of my dumbass-but-well-intentioned mistakes, in case you ever want to do something like this yourself.
Things I’m going to keep doing because they were outrageously great!
Being clear about this only being a place for my right people.
I was very careful about who I let in, and the few mistakes at the beginning quickly sorted themselves out.
Having people apply to get in was part of it. But a big part was that my Right People are awesome. Whatever magic thing allows me to curate fabulousness resulted in the best group I’ve ever worked with.
The group leaders.
Having small groups where people could work on their stuff without having to do it right in front of everyone was super helpful.
Not everyone used them, but the people who did got crazy support.
And the people I chose to group-lead were (and are) terrific. Watching them biggify through the process of being in this biggified position has been amazing.
Pretty much all of them have grown their businesses like mad this year. The fact that the Kitchen Table has been a part of that makes me happy!
Underpromising and overdelivering.
That’s pretty much always a smart thing to do in business, but Selma and I took this to a completely different level.
We promised two calls a month, but threw in bonus calls and visiting experts all over the place.
We sent presents. We created a manual. We got responsive tech support.
We biggified people. We brainstormed ways to make monies. I comped them into Fluent Self classes.
Within a month, there was already a forum thread called “If the Kitchen Table ended tomorrow, it would still have been totally worth the money and more”. Fabulous.
Adding requirements.
For the new people in both the second and third quarters, I added requirements for getting in.
Having requirements = yay. Having relevant requirements = even better.
Mine made sure people would already be familiar with basic concepts, and were committed to clear, compassionate communication.
The chatroom.
At the time — when launching this was the most complicated, expensive thing I’d ever done — I wasn’t sure if I wanted to spend even more money for bells and whistles.
Turns out adding the chatroom was the best thing in the entire world.
It’s where we get goofy while on the calls. This is where we come up with product ideas for each other. This is where madcap biggified joint ventures get born, where we problem-solve and dissolve into hilarity, and where we love each other up!
Spending lots of time on communication stuff.
We’ll be doing an entire quarter on that this coming year. But the result of all the work we put in on this is beautiful, beautiful clarity.
People ask for exactly what they need and how they need it. It’s just really clean.
Having a place to whine where no one is going to judge you for whining.
Oh, the genius that is CrankyPants McGrumbleBug’s Kvetchtastic Whine Bar.
People get to have their hard and receive acknowledgment, without having to take advice or try to fix anything. Huge.
Letting people have their own experience and not try to dictate it for them.
It’s something everybody has learned. And it’s good stuff. Important stuff.
And a few things I’m totally going to do differently next time.
Thinking I was starting a “membership site” program.
Hahahaha. Boy, was I ever wrong.
Okay. Admittedly the Table turned out to be something way better. It turned out to be a real community, where people genuinely take care of themselves and each other.
It’s like nothing else I’ve ever been a part of.
But, because of that, it’s a small intimate space that takes a lot of work. And to stay that amazing, it needs to remain small and intimate.
It took me a while to make peace with that, and to stop thinking of it as “this amazing thing that isn’t a money-generating-thing and needs to become one”.
Everything got better when I started realizing that what I had created was the best place in the entire world, and that the Kitcheners are actively demonstrating the power of everything I teach.
That will keep my business supported.
At some point I will create something else that’s more like a membership site – a place that can actually grow, but I’m viewing the Table as a magical, contained, safe place to nurture ideas and projects with an extraordinary community of smart-as-hell goofballs.
Hugely underestimating … everything.
Having no idea how active the Table was going to become, I worried about all the wrong things.
Like, what if no one talks in the forum boards?
Hilarious. My people are vocal. And smart. And have a lot to say. I quickly realized the physical impossibility (what with only 24 hours in a day and everything) of actually answering more than a small percentage.
So I read everything that goes up. But I gave everyone else permission to not have to. Because it’s crazy.
The Beta group. What a disaster.
Honestly? I had a beta group because it’s what everyone does.
Not enough thought went into this. And what did was fear-based — not very useful. I will not do this again.
My plan had been twofold: 1) to have the forum already active so that when new people came in it wouldn’t be all awkward and weird, and 2) to use the Beta-ers as a pool to take Group Leaders from.
Right. Of the 12 people in the Beta Group, only two ended up being really active at the Table, and none of them ended up being Group Leaders.
Instead, I had plenty of great leaders to choose from those who paid to get in.
Payments.
People begged to be able to split up the tuition. And from having been that person who couldn’t afford anything for so many years, I have a soft spot the size of California.
Smart Business Savant Me knows that if you let people pay monthly, they think of it as a monthly thing.
Which it isn’t. It’s a sum experience. It’s not just the group — it’s the library of the calls, it’s the classes, it’s the discounts, it’s having all those people actively biggifying you. It’s being part of an incredibly unusual thing.
I can’t say I regret making exceptions, because some of the astonishing biggification success stories at the Table have come from people I agreed to let make payments.
But the thing I was worried about happened, too. Some people treated the Kitchen Table like a magazine subscription. That’s not going to happen again.
Underestimating costs and not charging nearly enough.
There were months where I was paying over $6,000 to just one of my assistants.
Different people paying different amounts at different times and with different start dates got really hard to track.
It also took a while to train the Kitcheners to bring their issues to the Table instead of bringing them to someone who gets paid by the hour.
Not to mention unexpectednesses like hiring tech people who couldn’t finish what they started and then having to move the whole thing to its own server because it was slowing down my other sites …
Admin costs, tech costs, time costs and emotional costs were just huge.
Obviously it was totally, totally worth it because it’s the best thing I’ve ever created and I am one proud momma, believe you me.
But ow.
Especially since I hadn’t yet discovered that it was going to have to stay small to stay cool.
On the other hand, I didn’t know what unbelievably inspiring things people were going to get from it. Which brings us to …
The SURPRISES
Where to begin?
The popcorn effect, where people started leaving their hated day jobs and biggifying their own thing?
Maybe watching people go from being terrified of even having a website to having popular blogs with prestigious biggified guest-blogging gigs.
These amazing people creating products, starting programs with each other, working through their stuff, getting over debilitating fears, growing into their own skins.
People coming to work on one set of problems, and then healing family stuck, body image stuck, relationship stuck, biggification stuck all at the same time. Crazy.
And the love. I had no idea how fiercely loyal people would become about helping each other through anything and everything.
Hell, I had no idea it was going to be like this. I am in awe.
Going to end this now.
I have lots more to say but this is already the longest post in the entire world, even for me.
So I’ll just say that this has been the biggest, hardest, most rewarding learning experience of my life.* And I’m weirdly happy about doing it for another year.
* And not in the “wow, surviving that avalanche was quite a … uh … learning experience” sense either.
Comment zen for today.
What I can do without: criticism, judgment, shoulds, advice.
What would be delightful: things you’ve learned (hard and/or good) from putting on a show or teaching a program, stuff you’re thinking about, things like that. 🙂