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.

The art and science of pricing

Okay, so one of the big themes on this blog is biggification — the art of putting yourself out there and growing that cool thing you do (or want to do) — and how to do that mindfully.

And one of the scariest parts of mindful biggification is pricing.

Pricing as in: choosing or recognizing what you want to charge for the things you offer, and feeling okay with it. Or maybe even good about it.

I could probably write posts about pricing every single day for a year without running out of stuff to say about it, so I’m feeling a little unsure about how to narrow this the heck down to make the specific points I want to make today. Oh, well.

Here’s the short version:

1. Yeah, pricing. Scary stuff.
2. Comparison-based thinking will always get you down.
3. The help you need on this is internal, not external.
4. There will always be other people whose “stuff” is really, really loud.
5. It’s all about you. It’s also not about you.

Shall we?

1. Yeah, pricing. Scary stuff.

We all have issues around money that we need to work through and process like crazy in order to be happy and successful in business.

Having a business or project or some entrepreneurial something or other is the best (and hardest) therapy there is, because it throws you right in to a really intense self-work process.

You pretty much have to be in this process because if you don’t deal with your stuff — i.e. your frightened, overwhelmed, hurt, resentful, unintentionally self-destructive stucknesses — you get bogged down and can’t do the thing.

And doing the thing is part of your mission. Plus it makes you money. You want to do the thing.

So everyone’s dealing with their own personal tangle of “am I good enough?” and “I don’t want to be a jerk” and “I don’t want to undersell” and “when will I start thinking I’m worth it?” and all that stuff. A ton of fear comes out in pricing.

Naomi and I are going to be devoting a lot of energy to this theme in our non-gross self-promotion for people who hate self-promotion course, because ignoring it can cause major resistance and stuckification in your business.

Seriously, at least half the time when you’re procrastinating it’s because this stuff is skulking under the surface and you’re just not dealing with it. Avoidance patterns are normal, of course, but they don’t exactly help you do your best work.

2. Comparison-based thinking will always get you down.

So you’re craving some safety and reassurance and you start looking around to find out what everyone else is doing. You figure, “Oh, I’ll just do stuff the way they do because that’s safer.” You decide you’ll charge the same as them or maybe a little less.

Oh honey, not a good idea.

I know, it’s really tempting. And I know, it’s what pretty much all the experts say to do. And yes, occasionally it’s useful to know the range. But comparison-based thinking will ultimately leave you feeling hurt and confused.

Which doesn’t really do much for your stuck, stuck patterns.

For one thing, this course Naomi and I are doing? We’re definitely at the low end of the scale. But the scale is enormous. Prices in the internet world for a six week online course can range from $79 to $1200. Sorry, $1199. Whatever. Point is: that’s a pretty big range.

So then you’d end up going into the whole “how biggified am I compared with how biggified are they” comparison thing and it’s exhausting and bad for your soul.

You start thinking, but wait, ours comes with genius ideas and big crazy support. But wait, theirs comes with blah blah blah. But mine … but theirs … No good.

You still haven’t given your inner stucknesses the attention and love they’re clamoring for. So they’re not going to stop the yammering freak-out-fest any time soon.

Here’s another thing. Comparison takes you away from yourself. As my friend Mark Silver — wacky ultimate-frisbee playing Sufi business genius says (quoting some Sufi saying) “Comparison is from the devil.”

Devil or no devil, it’s looking to external factors for an internal answer. And sorry, inner wisdom trumps all other cards.

3. The help you need on this is internal, not external.

Your body is smart. It knows things you don’t know. Excuse me while I go into wacky hippie gobbledygook for a minute but there’s wisdom in your muscles and in your heart and in your neurons that (most of the time) you’re just not accessing.

Why not? Your focus is outside. Busy with comparison. And analysis. Actively or passively repressing all that internal knowledge of sometimes uncomfortable things you know and feel. That’s the external.

Pricing seems like it should be an external process (it’s the market, right?) but it’s actually an internal process.

Mark talks a lot about pricing resonance, which turns out to be a very helpful term. The idea is that sometimes someone else’s price feels right. And sometimes it doesn’t.

When it feels right it’s never about whether the sum itself is a lot or a little. That part isn’t relevant. $250,000 might feel right for a certain house while $2.50 might feel like way, way, way too much for a cup of tea that isn’t even very good in a really loud, annoying cafe.

Resonance is always situational. You feel it or you don’t. And your goal in setting your prices is that your right people — the people you really want to serve — feel it too. They get that “mmmmm, yeah, that’s exactly what it should cost” vibration.

Mark teaches a really, really cool exercise for testing pricing resonance and getting to your right price, whatever it is. I use my own wacky version of this exercise for my products and programs, and it’s saved me hours and days of agonizing. And yes, when your price is the “right price”, more sales happen.

So when Naomi and I started working on our course, at the pricing point I had to stop and say, “Sorry, do you mind if we do something that’s just a leeetle bit wacky?”

And Naomi, for all of her hard-ass potty-mouth ways, is totally up for wacky, even though she’ll probably smack me around for saying that out loud (bring it on, baby). She can handle the wacky.

Anyway, we went way, way internal on this one, and we got the resonance.

For this program — the one that was designed specifically for for a certain type of person who reads our blogs. For someone who will never take the $1200 version of this type of course. For someone who is so in the stuck that this would be a big, madcap, joyous, welcome space for them to do some untangling and start moving.

The crazy thing is that we worked it out separately, writing down the numbers that were really feeling right and the ones that weren’t so good … and our results were practically identical.

Seriously. We weren’t just in a resonant state with ourselves, we were in resonance with each other. We were never more than $5 apart with any possible price.

And, as it turns out, we were in resonance with our right people.

4. There will always be other people whose “stuff” is really, really loud.

Here’s how I know we were resonant:

1. The VIP seats got snapped up in less than 36 hours (we actually just decided to allow eight more people in because people complained, and three of those spots are already gone).

2. A ton of people have emailed me to say how elated they are that we’re doing this and how it just feels right. Even people who can’t afford to take the course right now are saying this. That’s resonance.

3. I can feel it. In my heart. It’s a warm, steady, buzz that is so, so right.

Now, not everyone is going to feel it. And people who have stuck stuff of their own are going to show up too.

That’s one of the reasons so many smart, creative people freak out about pricing. Because they don’t want to hear “Hey, that’s too much!” Fear of criticism is even stronger than fear of getting the pricing wrong — and that’s enough to stop a lot of people from even offering the thing in the first place.

So yeah. Though I hate to say it, there will be people who don’t like your prices. Naomi talked the other day about how to be strategic about pricing and she said we’d gotten letters from people saying that our awesome course is too cheap.

I’m not sure how much mail she gets (probably a ton), but I got exactly one email that said too cheap, one that said argh, too much, I wish I could take this but I can’t and over twenty that specifically said ohmylord this could not be more perfect.

That’s resonance. That’s the power of having done the internal work is that you can trust the resonance. You know it’s the right price. You checked in with yourself and you felt it.

It isn’t going to ring for absolutely everyone, of course — so if you hear from people who aren’t clicking with your price, that’s probably a sign that they’re not your right people.

It’s probably a sign that some part of what you do is just not right for them. Or that it’s bringing up some of their stuff. That’s their stuff.

Is their stuff having an uncomfortable effect on you? Are you feeling worried and insecure because you really need to know that you’re taking care of people? That’s your stuff. Which is okay. You’re allowed to have it. It’s part of the process and it’s normal.

5. It’s all about you. It’s also not about you.

When your stuff comes up, it sucks. Yuck. It’s also a reminder that it’s time to say hi to said stuck stuff and find out what’s going on. To remind yourself that it’s temporary and that you’re allowed to be human and have issues.

That’s the part that’s about you.

That the sign that it’s time to turn inward again and get back into your heart and body. That’s where you remember that you’re allowed to feel vulnerable. That’s also where your strengths are. It’s where you’ll remember what resonance feels like. And you’ll remember that if it’s not resonating with everyone, that’s a good thing.

You want to help your right people. That’s who your right price is for. Anyone who’s not there at this point is going to be helped by someone else — they’re somebody else’s right people. Sometimes it is about you — but mostly? It’s not.

So you work on your stuff and let everyone else work on theirs. The very worst thing that will happen is you’ll get better at trusting the resonance, you’ll practice some compassion and maybe you’ll even feel okay about being nice to yourself once in a while.

That’s it. I’m done talking about pricing.

Internet hugs to all.

And … if you want to grab one of the remaining VIP seats from the new batch — or if you just want to take our awesome, awesome class that deals specifically with these very themes, don’t forget to type havi when the shopping cart asks you for a coupon code. You’ll save $30 that way and yes, I meditated on that and it feels great.

Why the stuff you hate is useful

And why you still don’t have to do it even if it is.

Some people hate incredibly tacky Christmas decorations. Some people hate cherry Coke. Or, you know, things like racism and war.

Me? I hate charades. Not “people pretending to be something they aren’t”, though I’m willing to concede that this could also be pretty annoying. The game.

This is, obviously, not something that generally gets a lot of thought. But my gentleman friend and I spent the weekend at a house on the coast with a bunch of his college friends who — twenty-some years later — still get together to hang out.

They’re all completely awesome, so yeah, much fun was had. But then one night they were playing charades. And I don’t play charades.

And to be honest, I was pretty obnoxious about it. Well, I ran away.

Okay, not really. I just disappeared upstairs with Desmond.

Desmond is eight. And way smarter than I am. We went and practiced our ninja kicks and invented some very um, inventive kung fu moves.

And then we played an existential pirate game that I can’t really explain other than that it involved pirates and discussing varying degrees of nothingness. Des was better at conceptualizing it than I was.

But eventually bedtime rolled around which meant (for me) going back to the world of grown ups. They were still playing charades and I was still acting like I was eight. Maybe not as obnoxiously as it seems in my mind, but there was definitely some yawning and eye-rolling.

The first insight.

Luckily I’d spend the better part of the weekend doing Shiva Nata (my wacky yoga brain training thing), which is all about generating big, fat insights and light bulb moments.

Here’s one of them.

It dawned on me (thanks, neural connections) that I’d spent my entire childhood impatiently waiting to grow up. Because, you know what? I didn’t really like being a kid.

Is that sad? Hmmm. Maybe, but that’s not the point.

Mainly I just didn’t like being told what to do. Between being told what to learn in school and how to play at summer camp, it was all about resistance to being herded, guided and grouped.

Other people always had the final say over how I spent my time. No one ever consulted me, and the things they came up with were stupid things like charades.

And since I always had a much better idea of what the best thing to do would be, it seemed as though life would be a lot easier if people would just let me do my thing.

Since I wasn’t equipped with quite the right skills to deal with all that resistance and frustration, I just waited.

For a really, really long time.

In high school people said that at university you’d be able to take classes you actually liked. But then it turned out that at university they didn’t really like you to think for yourself and that you had to wait for graduate school to do real thinking. And then it turned out that wasn’t true either.

Eventually I did grow up — and stuff was hard and I was poor. Five years working as a bartender in Tel Aviv was enough to bring home the realization that no, people will tell you what to do. Forever. That’s what having a job means.

Which is a big part of the appeal of owning your own business. Yes, time and money will dictate much of what you do, but at least you’re the one analyzing the situation and steering the course.

Plus you get to take naps whenever you want. Naps!

Being an adult means you should get a free pass from charades, right?

The whole point of grown-up-ness, as far as I’m concerned, is that I don’t freaking have to play charades.

That no one can herd me into a group and tell me how to spend my time. That no one else gets to make rules. That I can go to bed when I want (the earlier the better, thank you very much), read what I want and even do what I want.

Obviously we’re all limited by stuff like time and money. And the laws of physics (ow, stupid gravity!). Oh, and various acquired beliefs and conceptions about what is possible. Beliefs that lead into some pretty painful tunnel-vision-ey consequences.

But within all that, at the very center is a hurt, bored kid who wants some autonomy. Who wants to be trusted to choose.

It just boils down to the raw desire to have some degree of choice (and through choice: power) over how you spend your time. Or at the very least your “free” time.

Part of this is just that I want to spend my time in self-work and in helping others. So yeah, I’d rather be engaged in one meaningful conversation (even if it’s about pirates) than in playing a game. And I’d rather be off doing yoga or writing than a moderated or mediated version of “hanging out”.

Okay, it’s my stuff. But it’s mine, and the process of learning how it works is fascinating and useful.

What I’m taking from this.

There’s always going to be stuff you can’t stand doing.

Some of it you can work on, poke at, and shift so that you get to the point when yes, you really won’t have to do it any more.

Some of it you’re probably going to end up choosing to do anyway, because of some deeper benefit or result that makes it all worthwhile.

Some of it you’re just going to rage against until you eventually, finally, get to the point where you can learn from it.

So now my thing is this: how can I be really, really conscious about how I choose to spend my time?

Part of that is giving myself permission to not want to do stuff. So that when everyone’s playing charades I can just quietly exercise my right to opt-out.

And part of that is recognizing which things push my buttons so I don’t have to regress into resentful eight-year-old mode and just run away when things are uncomfortable.

Part of that is remembering that it is my time (it always was) and that now is the time to take it.

The pirates have mastered the art of nothingness. Full nothingness, as Desmond calls it. I’m not there yet, and not planning on getting there.

Partly because of the whole “Crap! There is no there!” thing.

But also because watch out, I have more stuff to learn, and I’m going to take some time to learn it.

P.S. If I did play charades? I would totally make people act out “Charade“. Cary Grant is so so hot in that, and no one would ever guess. Suckers.

Because who doesn’t like a good foot scrub?

The thing with time and the way it flies the hell by is that I’m finally getting around to posting something now that’s about a month late.

But life is cyclical. And stuff comes back around, so it’s actually weirdly relevant again.

Let’s scooby doo time machine back to a month ago.

Remember when I told you how I was going to give my home office a pedicure? Well, I wrote up some notes from the super awesome Office Spa Day thing and had planned to share some of my process and insights with you.

If you missed it, the idea is that you spend two hours giving your home office some TLC so it loves you back and so your work can be more enjoyable (well, less stressful). By phone. It’s totally the future.

But, as I discovered, it’s also a great way to work on various stucknesses in your personal relationship with things like time, space, order and creativity. Big stuff.

The whole thing is facilitated by Jennifer Hofmann, seriously one of my favorite people in the entire world … so at this point, giving my office a spa day is officially my new favorite business ritual. There.

The first part of the spa (30 minutes?) is about figuring out where you are and what you want to work on. You know, to become clear on what the issues are and plan a course of action.

The second part (80 minutes?) is spent working on your own with whatever course of action you committed to — aka doing the thing. (Jen also gave out her private number in case we had a freak-out moment. Extra points for sweetness.)

Then you call back in (guilt-free accountability time) and spend the last twenty minutes checking in and figuring out where you’re going to go from there.

What it was like.

The first part: realizations!

During the first part we also did a cool little (non-cheesy) exercise about finding clarity and setting an intention. There were three understandings that came up for me.

The first thing I noticed was resentment. The stupid laundry situation. I know, what?

Yeah. So I’m a big believer in hanging clothes to dry. Which, when you live in Portland, happens indoors. And there’s really only one place that clothes can be hung to dry and that’s in my office.

And staring at hanging laundry is hell on my concentration.

The cool thing: as soon as the resentment surfaced, so did a possible solution: Could I do laundry Fridays so it can dry Saturdays when I’m not working? Yes!

The second thing was an image: What’s missing for me in Portland as a new transplant are roots and grounding.

This realization instantly triggered a memory of the poster I received as a gift from a Berliner artist this summer. It’s a painting of a tree and it says, “Für Dich blüht ein Baum“. For you blooms a tree! Perfect. And I know just where to put it.

The third thing was a word. Actually, I just experienced a deeper knowledge of something I was already well aware of — I value freedom in a big, crazy way.

Freedom. *sigh*

For me, feeling free is associated with order (among other things) and specifically order in my online life. For me to be mobile and able to work anywhere, I need my laptop desktop to be at least as organized — if not more — than my actual office space.

There were two specific problem areas:

1. The email outbox (draft city)
2. The “everything” file (that place on my computer where I put stuff that’s waiting to get filed, oy).

The second part: getting stuff done!

Most people have piles lying around the house or office that drive them crazy. For me, it was these two virtual computer piles. It felt urgent, so I knew this was going to be the thing to (nonviolently) tackle first. I didn’t set a specific goal — it was more like “Let’s see how much we can move through” in the allotted time.

The idea was: start with the outbox and move on to the “everything file”. The filter was: Can I turn this correspondence/interaction/idea into something that can become a blog post? And if not, dump it.

Well. What I actually got done? Three times more than I’d estimated.

Dealing with the outbox actually took only ten minutes. Be astounded with me for a minute here. I’d been hating on it for months and it took ten freaking minutes. Outrageous.

The next step was the “everything” file, which had 31 items in it.

It turned out that a bunch of things in here were PDFs I’d downloaded or products I’d bought and hadn’t made time to read / listen to / process. So I created a new home for them, and decided to devote an hour of “study time” each Sunday to this sort material.

Everything else either got added to a list of blog post ideas or got trashed. Awesomeness.

This part only took half an hour. I had completely overestimated how complicated it was. The funny part? I often have half an hour but always figured these digital plies were way too big for that kind of time frame — never even started.

The big realization: I’d avoided opening the folder because of a (false) assumption that each thing would be complicated and annoying. Hardly any were.

In fact, it’s amazing how much I could have ninja-pruned away if I’d just opened the folder to see what was there.

Then I moved on to my blog-in-the-works folder. Got rid of twenty items. AND (bonus!) found a completely finished post from a while back that I thought I’d lost. Rock on.

The third part: moving forward!

When it was time to call back and check-in, I was buzzing. And there were really only eight more items left to deal with, all of which I felt confident I could zap away.

It was pretty crazy how far my expectations were surpassed. But the main thing I felt was spaciousness. As in, even though there are still other parts of my office and business that need clearing up, those can wait because I just got some breathing space. Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh.

The main take-aways for me:

1. Looking at everything — everything! — through the lens of “Can I use this for a blog post? And if not, can I just throw it away?”

2. Challenging the assumptions: “Is it that complicated or am I just assuming?”

Main point for everyone else: Jen is a freaking genius, but really, the combination of accountability and focused time is so incredibly powerful that Jen’s being a freaking genius is kind of just a bonus.

Next one’s tomorrow …

A month goes by really, really, really fast. Next one is this Wednesday. Like, tomorrow. Jen’s Office Spa. Worth it worth it worth it. There might not even be spots left for this month, but go anyway and see if you can still get in.

I know you’re wondering why you should bother to pay for an office spa when you could just take two hours off and organize. Because I wondered too. Aside from the fact that no, I won’t actually do that, the facilitation and the accountability and the awesome power of Jen transform the whole thing into something really sweet and comforting. Trust me on this.

Maybe I’ll see you there tomorrow and if not — next month. Bring all your awful stuck. Jen can take it.

Oh, and best testimonial ever:

Inspired Home Business

Liz Loves Labor Day Blog-Lib Link Love

Um, a leetle explanation here

Today’s post is going to be kinda bizarre. I’m just saying. Don’t say I didn’t warn you because hey, I’m doing it right now.

So Liz Strauss — the same Liz Strauss who gave me that awesome “successful outstanding blogger” award that I keep forgetting to put up in my sidebar — decided we should play madlibs on our blogs.

Only with these madlibs you need to link to someone or something instead of coming up with a “silly word” or “something a child might throw at a wall” or whatever.

I don’t usually play goofy internet games but come on, madlibs? On my blog? I’m in!

This really, really needs a title.

(Too bad I used up all my creative juice filling in the blanks)

I had stripey fansocks, but I was looking for something to say to people who want me to go do some work. An adventure was in order.

A couple of galaxies down and one nebula over, I entered Powell’s world of books. I saw my favorite wordpress consultant making a Chris Brogan list with those Canadian guys with the writing implements about 50 ways to remove a splinter from your kid’s tender little behind.

Nearby Sarah Lefton was not going to get any more cats and Annik Rubens had just launched a terrible new celebrity clothing line.

Meanwhile, some multiplying spores were wandering aimlessly and asking, “Has anyone found a way not to be a blogging bozo?”

No one seemed to notice the group in a candlelit corner. Dressed in black, in cognito, San Francisco hero Luisa Tetrazzini held a rendezvous with the Get it Done Guy and the maybe future SWA blog-o-spondent. Rumor has it they were plotting to make stay-at-home dads feel insecure.

The meeting of folks from the museum of things broke into conflict with Sparky Firepants over the making of a boring company blurb.

That seemed HUGE until Naomi went and got her hand stuck in a box of wine.

James the dancing geek couldn’t shut up about that crocodile USB drive. As a result, two thousand people decide to not learn German and just be ironic instead, opt for a planned adolescence, and that meant we heard long, complicated confessions of a kept husband for days after.

The “blog” of “unnecessary” quotation marks reported that, “It’s simply the wind in your vagina.”

My own perspective is apparently pretty skewed so I’m just going to throw up my hands in despair and say, Thanks for the zombies, jesus.

End of story.

That’s it, guys. Thirty-one links. That’s how much I love you. Happy labor day weekend if you’re in the States and sorry that everyone’s gone AWOL if you’re not.

And yeah, if you want to play bloglibs on your own blog, go get the template from Mz Liz.

Friday RoundUp #4: the “internet famous” edition

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.

The hard stuff.

Sometimes things hurt.

So my friend committed suicide. We’ve covered that. And maybe you remember how shaken up I was when I found out.

Well, I’m still shaken up. Sometimes it’s a little easier. And sometimes it hits harder than others. And this week was just plain hard.

I go into a cafe and they’re playing some heartbreakingly beautiful song and I think oh, I’ll go up to the counter and ask what it is and then I’ll have something incredible to play for him when I’m back in Tel Aviv. And then I remember.

Or I eat a peach and I think, “Man, eating a peach is just the most fantastically ecstatic experience ever. Being alive is so freaking great I can hardly stand it.” And then I remember.

Or out at the Oregon coast, practicing Shiva Nata on the roof, with the ocean below me and the sun glowing at the horizon’s edge … I’ve never been here and yet it’s completely familiar.

Then I remember. The last time I danced Shiva Nata on a roof above the sea with the sun about to set over it was on his roof in Neve Tzedek. It was the Mediterranean, not the Pacific, but it’s the same huge sky. And it just seems like more sad than I know how to hold.

That was my hard this week. That, and working a little too much. Luckily there was all sorts of good stuff to sweeten the hard …

The good stuff

I’m not internet famous but I uh, act like I am on the internet.

Colleen Wainwright, aka Communicatrix, wacky and endearing queen of internet fabulousness asked me and Selma to be in her video. Hurrah!

Yep, she made a video to convince Southwest Airlines to make her their honorary Blog-O-Spondent (video blogger correspondent person?), which she totally should be, whatever it is. And she went and got a bunch of internet-famous people to be in it.

My duck was all yeah, baby, yeah. Cameo time. Because ever since Selma was on German television with me, she has gone all sorts of diva, I swear.

And now that people think we’re internet famous, my duck won’t even look at you for less than a thousand dollars. Kinda like the San Francisco twins, except without the pillbox hat(s).

Anyway, the video camera was on the fritz, so all I was able to give @communicatrix was a screenshot, but we still made the final cut.

Go watch the video and vote for Colleen so Southwest can pay to have her come hang out with me in Portland.

People hate me because I’m cool!

This probably shouldn’t make the “good stuff” list but it’s so funny I can’t stand it.

Last week a client of mine finally quit her horrible job after threatening to do so — but not acting on it — for six years. And this was after I did a one-time 90 minute session with her.

So now her friends, who have been patiently and supportively listening to her complaints, giving her sound advice, and saying “JUST QUIT ALREADY” for six years, are all pissed off at me for having gotten through to her so quickly.

Of course that’s not what happened at all. I mean, obviously I didn’t tell her to quit her job. Or to do anything for that matter. God forbid. I just gave her some techniques and then we used them to figure out what she wanted to do and how to do it.

But then she did it and is elated about having done it, and apparently it’s all my fault.

I can’t say I’m too upset about that but on second thought I do seem to be making enemies pretty fast. As another client said this week, “My husband is kind of upset that you’ve solved all my problems — now we have nothing to talk about.”

So I’m thinking that instead of client success stories, testimonials or whatever, I should just link to a page of fabulous hate mail from the friends, family and loved ones of my clients who are furious that we were able to work through their stuff so fast.

You know, “We gave her the best years of our lives and you only needed 45 minutes!”

That is both horrible and completely awesome.

And occasionally people also like me, which is also cool.

Laura Fitton (aka @Pistachio if you’re a Twitterite), someone I totally admire from afar, said the nicest thing about me:

Twitter makes my world a fountain of bright, gifted people. @havi is a favorite, for her posts like this.

Which is funny, because that’s how I think about Twitter. A fountain of bright, gifted people. And I’m always thinking stuff like oh, that Pistachio is so, so great. It’s weird to think that people are out there appreciating your work and you have no idea.

This was not only super sweet, but also a great reminder to go out and tell people how important their stuff is to me.

This week I went and told some people how awesome I think they are. Among them — in case you want to tell them too — Charlie Gilkey from Productive Flourishing, Alex Fayle from Someday Syndrome and Shannon Wilkinson who is just great and now she’s also blogging it up.

Oh, right. Naomi and I had a baby!

Love how the best part of my week totally slipped my mind. Naomi-my-internet-crush with the hot, hot stockings is the mom of my Canadian love-child.

Well, we gave birth to a how to promote the cool thing you do without being gross and/or getting tangled in scary, overwhelming horribleness program. And working with Naomi is so joyful and fulfilling and fun that I want to cry.

And not to stress you out but all but two of the VIP seats are taken. I don’t mean that in a cheesy, salesy “Why, there’s only TWO spots left” kind of way. I mean, be happy for me that we launched this thing yesterday and it’s already filling up like crazy with the best people ever.

That’s it for me ….

And yes, absolutely join in my Friday ritual if you feel like it and/or there’s something you just want to say out loud too.

Yeah? What was something good and/or hard that happened in your week?

And of course: happy weekend. Happy week to come.