Make It Work: For You

I just finished reading Chris Brogan's article on Skrillex. "Okay, enough," I hear myself say.

It's about time I learn about this guy, Skrillex that is, since I continue to see his name all over the place. I know he's music related, but I had no idea what the scene is surrounding him.

Pretty cool. Here's a guy working a brilliant business platform, as Brogan points out:

                    "None of them have time to hate.  

                    Here’s why: because the connection will carry you. 

                    The connection to your community is what each of 
                    these people used as a main gauge."

  
"The connection will carry you."

So true, yet so simple. 

I started thinking about the advice I overheard given to someone publishing their first book: "Don't read the reviews!"

I dislike book reviews. As a reader, I dislike book reviews. There's no context given to guide these perceptions, so I'll come to my own conclusion, thanks. I couldn't imagine publishing a book, then having someone tear it to shreds, again, without context. What an unfounded waste of time. Again, no thank you. 

I'd rather bask in the love and support of those who love and relate to what I do, who know and appreciate the painstaking work it takes to write laboriously, to hear myself speak the words "I did it" again and again, and not be exposed to the negative energy.

I think this directly relates to this new-found inner fire and sense of belonging I've acquired synchrosporadically this year. Yes, that would be: two parts synchronicity, one part sporadically.

Yet, my inner critic, Maude, is stepping in. She can't handle all these feelings of belonging and connectedness. 

"People are going to think you're weird."

"People are going to think you're nuts for associating with this stuff." 

And loudest of all:  

"By defining yourself in this way, you are secluding yourself from people who can't relate."

If you know me, you know I'm familiar with being well-rounded, as my mom called it. But as I start to find a place in this world that is a little more defined, I feel a slight threat to my well-roundedness. Yet, I sense this threat stemming solely from fear: from the recognition of difference, change, the unknown. 

So you know what? I'm going to continue stepping forward into this unknown. I'm going to continue defining my community and using that as my main gauge, instead of using everyone I know, because I think that is what will work for me, too.

As for Skrillex, keep doing what your doing, man, and keep feeling the love. 

_ _ _ _ _ 

Are you familiar with Skrillex and his business skillz? Do you agree this post is about the success that can be found in not caring what other people think? Do you struggle with this as much as you did when you were younger (relative to your age now)? Do you have a strong opinion on book reviews? Have you ever feared a sense of belonging or a sense of something new, even though it still felt right? Does your inner critic speak as harshly as mine? Any words of wisdom?

 

          

 

Theme Five: Rot

'Go ahead and just let it rot,' she snarled as she turned her back to him.

He stood there, unsure whether to break the silence or let it be.  She's been this way for a while now.  Caught in her own world, overly sensitized, distracted.  It weighed on him heavily, but he had no idea how to respond when she got like this.

She walked up the stairs and through the screen door, letting it slam behind her.  He let out a heavy sigh and walked toward the shed. 

She picked up the basket of apples they'd purchased earlier in the day at the market.  She began washing them frantically, dousing each with baking soda to scrub off any potential pesticides.  Cleaning was her escape.  Cleaning was her zen.  Yet in realizing this, she still did not find the escape appealing.

It didn't stop her.  She piled up the two dozen apples after rinsing them and opened the cupboard, clanging around for the apple peeler.  'If only he could see into my heart,' she thought.  It was true.  If only he could know the discord running rampant in front of him was a reflection of the chatter in her mind that she tried but could not control.   

She stood at the counter peeling apple after apple, while mentally lining up the tasks that will keep her busy through the day.  Preoccupied.  Her fingers began to prune from the wetness.  'An apple pie.  I suppose I'll turn this mess into a beautiful lattice-topped apple pie.  What an idealistic image,' she thought.  The perfect family with the perfect wife, home baking apple pie on a sultry Sunday afternoon.    How... expected.  She shuddered as the warm breeze blew in through the kitchen window sweeping loose strands of hair across her bare neck.

A moment later, he came inside and washed his hands.  He dried them slowly on the towel, watching her as she kept her head down working steadily.  He grabbed her apple soaked fingers and pulled her toward the next room.  She started to resist him so she could clean her hands free of the muck coursing between her fingers, but he persisted.  He pulled her into the dining room.  He felt her soften, felt their world soften, witnessed it from the outside in, wanting to capture this moment.  Her arms went limp, releasing his fingers.  A smile spread across her face as she glanced upward noticing a modest one on his.

It took all the strength she had to step closer to him and throw her arms around his neck.  She then allowed herself to melt into him once again, this time from the truest depths of her core.