Tag: learning

Hustle is a dial, not a way of being.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

There are appropriate times to hustle in your business. Sometimes you’re hustling for a year or two on the side, creating your escape route and freedom business to jump ship from your corporate job.

Sometimes you stay up late and hustle the night before a course launches, or when you’re putting the final tweaks on a project before a deadline. Sometimes you hustle in between gigs, moving across the country, lining the highways in a bus, or getting from bookstore to bookstore to sell copies of your book.

Hustling, however, is not a way of being.

Many professions and careers (and managers, unfortunately) make hustling an expectation. Too many companies create expectations that people will work non-stop, jump at an email, and stay up late with very little advance notice; this is hustling as a result of poor planning, not as a result of the ebb and flow of project schedules.

With few exceptions, hustling as an expectation and a way of life—when you’re staying up too late and waking up early again the next day, time and time again, without an end date—is not sustainable. You’ll get sick, fall into depression or adrenal fatigue, contract bronchitis, or want to quit. The advent and appeal of lifestyle design comes not from people who are lazy but from people who are fed up. People who want to regain a bit of control over their time and want their efforts to matter.

Whether you’re an entrepreneur, an employee, a self-directed freelancer, or a consultant, constant hustling isn’t always indicative of a great environment. There is such a thing as too much hustling.

Hustle is a dial. Dial it up, ratchet it back. A mode that you can press to apply a bit more pressure, and ease up when it’s time to rest.

Hustle is a dial—play it up, pull it back.

Play it like an instrument. Step on it gently or firmly like a gas pedal. Know when to apply the hustle. Know when to apply the brakes. (Brakes are there for a reason, and it’s not just to slow down).

And as a counter-point: if you’re not hustling, I suppose it’s time to find something worth hustling for. Once in a while. It’s alright to love something and want to work on it a lot. Ratcheting up the dial can make downtime so much sweeter.

But if you’re hustling non-stop, it’s probably time to step back.

Why Writing is an Act of Bravery: A Letter to Writers

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Brene Brown Power of Life.

“Only when we’re brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our life.” — Brene Brown

Writing is an act of bravery.

Each year, when I teach our writing workshops, I get to work with a small group of twenty-some writers, thinkers, and creatives. Inevitably, the process gets difficult in weeks two and week three, because I ask people to share parts of their stories—their wishes, hopes and dreams, who they are.

My students write with angst—“I’m behind! This is hard! I’m struggling!”—and I know this feeling all too well. I encourage them to continue, to press on in the face of fear or worry, and to get their pens to the page as often as possible. I am here to support, to encourage, and to push—just the right amount. Enough to get into it. Enough to push past the blocks and the barriers. Then the insights come: “Wow—I wasn’t expecting that I’d write about that,” and “That was fascinating,” and “I just got lost in a 2,000 word story and I’ve barely just begun.”

Writing is an act of bravery. Writing often means facing your own darkness and light. This is an essay for all of the students in my writing class, but it’s also an open letter to all writers, everywhere, struggling.

1. An open letter to all writers.

Dear writers:

The past few weeks have been deep, winding, and possibly full of emotions as we unpack the thoughts and ideas that have perhaps been long been locked inside of our minds. We have access to our thoughts, but not always a full understanding of them. Emotions can have such a mastery over us, and forging a relationship with your pen can help unwind parts of that. Through writing, we discover deeper truths about what we want, who we are, what we value, and the stories that we tell ourselves. Often we have to write the stories first before we can discover what it is that we’re trying to say.

For the newest of writers, I often hear that these first few exercises are somewhat surprising, bringing up past ideas and thoughts that perhaps haven’t fully percolated or settled in ways that you had thought. Often rough with emotion and tenderness, I find that writing brings up ideas and thoughts that I’m not sure how to frame, or what to say, or where to go next. It is within this context that I offer up a thought of gratitude for showing up to practice, and thank myself simply for embracing the pen and paper as a way to discover new (and existing) thoughts and ideas.

Writing is a spiritual practice, a soul-cleansing, deep-dive into the emotions and ideas we might not even be at first aware that we have.

Writing is a spiritual practice, a soul-cleansing, deep-dive into the emotions and ideas we might not even be at first aware that we have. Some days writing brings out the best in us, and other days I have to thrash through words before getting up angrily to go for a long walk, dance out my thoughts, or drown my ideas in coffee, water or wine. As we uncover the deeper truths and ideas—we become aware of who we are, and possibly the painful moments within us that have been buried for so long.

Write to discover.

Writing lets me figure out what it is that I’m thinking, by putting words onto pages and telling the story of my life, my experiences, and the world as I see it around me.

When I come back to it, I recognize patterns and ideas and realize much more about my perspectives and point of view. One of the kindest things I’ve done for myself is take the time to make space on a page, write some words down, and allow myself to come back whenever I want to talk through my ideas. Not every day is a glamorous day by any stretch, and I often struggle to sit down at the computer in the first place. In fact, it’s amazing how appealing laundry and dishes become when I’m avoiding saying the thing that needs to be said. What keeps me coming back to my practices, however, is that this is the place where I’m allowed to think what I think, write what I want to write, and tell the stories no matter how fantastical or horrible they might feel. I have permission to explore these ideas, without consequence. I can write them down. So, I write them down.

When we look at ways to talk to other people and develop communications (and stories) that teach, share, and explain—or moreover, that persuade—it often requires a deep understanding of the self, as well as a deep understanding of another person. Whether you’re a marketer trying to explain your product to an audience that could benefit from your design, a teacher trying to clarify a new idea to students, or an individual seeking understanding from a close friend or loved one, it is through our words that we take the ideas in our minds and give them shape for other people.

Words and writing are one way that we tap into our soul and ideas—words are a connection device between humans, a way to tell stories and share parts of ourselves with other people.

Words and writing are one way that we tap into our soul and ideas—words are a connection device between humans, a way to tell stories and share parts of ourselves with other people. The more we practice using our words and explaining our thinking, the larger our repertoire of sentences and stories that we can pull from to explain ourselves to other people. The more we write, the better we can teach, explain, love, persuade. Writing, as a practice, gets easier the more that you do it.

Words give us the power to share.

Writing is about bravery and courage.

“Give me the courage to show up and be seen.” — Brene Brown.

“We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are. We all have shame. We all have good and bad, dark and light, inside of us. But if we don’t come to terms with our shame, our struggles, we start believing that there’s something wrong with us –that we’re bad, flawed, not good enough—and even worse, we start acting on those beliefs. If we want to be fully engaged, to be connected, we have to be vulnerable.” —Brene Brown, Daring Greatly.

The beauty of writing, and this is true for me quite profoundly, is that we can often make our way out of suffering through the act of writing itself and often just by writing alone. It is not always the action or the striving that must be reconciled, but rather the understanding and acknowledgment of feeling itself.

As Spinoza, the philosopher, is quoted:

“Emotion, which is suffering, ceases to be suffering as soon as we form a clear and precise picture of it.” – SPinoza

In re-reading Man’s Search for Meaning, a gut-wrenching first-person account of surviving the concentration camps of Nazi Germany, Harold Kushner details the quest for meaning in his introduction to the account:

“Life is not primarily a quest for pleasure, as Freud believed, or a quest for power, as Alfred Adler taught, but a quest for meaning. The greatest task for any person is to find meaning in his or her life. Frankl saw three possible sources for meaning: in work (doing something significant), in love (caring for another person), and in courage during difficult times. Suffering in and of itself is meaningless; we give our suffering meaning by the way in which we respond to it.”

Forces beyond your control can take everything you possess except one thing, your freedom to choose how you will respond to the situation. You cannot control what happens to you in life, but you can always control what you will feel and do about what happens to you.

Writing is not just about sadness and suffering, either (and nor is life). Writing also lets us write the good things, write the ways we want to feel, and give permission to the greatness in emotion that needs as much encouragement to expand as do the emotions that make us seek understanding. Good feelings need space to expand, too. Write about all of it. Tell it.

Perhaps we are afraid of writing because we’re afraid of knowing our own story.

Writing is intimidating for so many reasons. We’re scared that we won’t capture the ideas or know what to say—and we’re afraid of what we’ll discover or become if we do pencil out those terrifying thoughts.  in your life do you feel brave or have you been brave? Perhaps your writing journey can begin with a highlights reel: describe a moment in your life when you encountered an opportunity to be brave. How did you react? What was the call to action? How long did it take you to decide to do something? How did you feel before, during, and after? What was the result? Who was changed as the result of this event?

Bravery is something different to every person.

To me, I can find it tremendously difficult to act upon one of my biggest dreams—the dream that I’m almost afraid to make real, the one that seems so simple to everyone else but me. In contrast to this seemingly simple thing, this act that everyone but me seems to find easy, I would rather jump in an ocean naked, swim a hundred miles, or work myself to the ground than admit to myself how important it is. When I discovered the extent to which I was avoiding doing the practice of my deepest dream, I wondered to myself whether or not taking steps to fulfill this dream was even brave. Did it matter that it seemed like the hardest thing in the world was getting on that bus and taking myself to the class I was so scared of? Did each of these actions—even just saying what my dream was out loud to those closest to me—was that even bravery?

Speak up for something you believe in.

The answer is yes. Speaking up for something you believe in, even if it’s just a laugh and a smile; holding your daughter’s arms, saying no with your eyes, writing about a story that hurts to tell, taking a class that terrifies you even though it doesn’t seem difficult to anyone else—this is bravery.

Write, tell the story of your life.

Thank you for reading and writing,

Sarah

 

The Celebration Jar: An Alternative to Meaningless Gift-Giving

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

I splurged and went shopping recently. Like, real shopping–whatever “real” means. (Isn’t the act of spending a day inside of a privately-owned mall slightly strange?)

I did things I hadn’t done in years. Wandered through big-box stores, large crowds, jingly Santa Clauses, screaming children, and wafting Cinnabon flavorings fuming into the crowded halls to make parents miserable. (I lasted about two hours– the smell and the onslaught of horrible stimulation gave me a headache within a few hours).

And I bought stuff. It was kind of delicious, scrumptious, and wonderful.

Warm winter jacket for New York? Check. It’s down, its fluffy, it’s got zippers, it’s got pockets, and it keeps me warm every day in this snowy season. Neon running outfit? Check. Running in the snow. Yes, yes, yes.  

While I’m not one for huge purchases or shopping–I’d rather scrounge in Goodwill for some third-hand shirts I can mend up and call my own– sometimes it’s nice to buy a thing or two.

But when is the right time to buy, and when is the right time to remember that you already have everything you need?   

1. For me, minimalism isn’t about restriction or restraint. It’s about freedom and joy.

It’s about not drowning in stuff—and knowing what you need. It’s about remembering that shopping isn’t the answer to your sadness, and that gifts don’t replace love.

One of my favorite quotes of all time reminds me of what I strive for:

Twitter-Bird Social_Media_Icons_CtrlAltDesign_V2-19“The antidote to consumerism isn’t minimalism–it’s art.”

So as you’re winding through your December journey into the advertising-laden world of spending and celebrating, consider how you’re spending and what you really intend behind your season of gifts. Is it made with love? Is it sent with love? And, if it’s coming into your house, is it ART?–is it something you will cherish, love, and adore? Then yes.

But it’s not even about gifts or things. One of my favorite ways to celebrate the holidays–beyond the delicious new coat that I got–is to remember what I already have that I love.

And, as a gift from me to you, here are ways I love thrifting–and putting a twist on–the season of gifts:

2. The celebration jar: wrapping up all your celebrations.

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We’ve been talking a lot about presents in my house, mostly because I’ve got so much stuff and I don’t need more of it–I need less of it. But I adore celebrating the seasons and celebrating each other. I also love gifting.

So we pulled out a jar–a vase. We wrapped a bow on it. I ripped up some old paper bags and we started scrawling things we’re happy for and grateful for. Each item gets its own note.

We fill up the jar for two weeks. We’ll open it on Christmas. (You can do this Christmas week, if you’d like, or pick a day to fill the jar and pick a day to empty the jar.

On our Christmas day, we’ll unwrap things we love–things like:

I love that you make the bed every morning.
My new warm jacket keeps me warm and toasty during New York winters.
Being able to see my family.
Morning snuggles on weekend days (and some weekdays, too!).
Knowing my neighbors.
A reading nook to read early in the mornings. 

What are you grateful for?

What can you celebrate this holiday–that you already own?

3. Things you can do and ways you can love–beyond traditional gifts: 

  • A card of all the things you love about someone.
  • A hand-written letter or gratitude card.
  • Date night and a home-cooked meal (also great for friends!).
  • Sauna night or gym night–pick a friday, go to the gym, soak in the baths, have conversations.
  • Movie night. Even cheesy or terrible movies.
  • Coupons or gift certificates for services, even of your own doing. (I used to give my mom coupon books for cleaning the kitchen and vacuuming the house all the time).
  • Books (see my list, below).
  • A reservation for a night away in a cabin for New Year’s.
  • A celebration ceremony with a gratitude jar.
  • A date for visioning, journaling, and planning during the new year.
  • A massage or a back rub for friends that are working hard.
  • A buddy yoga class–head there with your friend.
  • Donating food to those in need.
  • Spending time or volunteering at a homeless shelter
  • Volunteer for youth. (I’m donating time to my yoga studio’s Lineage Project–a volunteer project that serves incarcerated youth in New York City.

4. But gifting is fun! (You bet it is!) That’s why I also made a short list of alternative gifts for the loves on your list.

Gift-giving can also be wonderful. Want some great ideas for gifts? Here are my favorite ideas of things to get–if you’re a thing-getter. Perhaps an investment in your self, your soul, your brain, your body, or your well-being is the best way to go. Some ideas to fuel your inspiration:

  • The Desire Map by Danielle LaPorte: Start with the book ($22) and a workbook if you’re the kind of person who hates writing in books ($12). Grab a day planner if you’re feeling like you want to re-invent 2014. Write all. over. it. Dedicate January to revealing your feelings and starting the year with a bang.
  • The January Joy-Up with Hannah Marcotti ($29). A magic-making mastermind with daily collage and journal prompts. It’s $29. I’m already signed up and I’ve ordered a set of extra-large moleskines precisely for the act of visioning in January. I’m stacking up books, glue, and scissors (and a cutting mat!) so I can dream, dream, dream. I want to dream of speeches, books, essays, weird multi-media projects, business dreams, life dreams, and all of the other beautiful things we can manifest in our lives. Because thinking makes it possible.
  • The Joy Up Equation with Molly Mahar of Stratejoy ($149). This woman is gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. So many women I know are. I am grateful to the internet for connecting me to them. With her, you’ll listen to your soul, journal for a month, discover more of who you are, figure out what brings you joy. (Pick one of the above and get INTO it already! Your life is waiting!)
  • The Writer’s Workshop: The January Edition. (My course, of course!) Our third cycle starts January 13th. A four-week course with our own private community, video lessons, weekly writing assignments, and heaping doses of honesty and inspiration. The course is $400 if you register before December 28th–$500 for regular registration. Take a class as your holiday gift. (PSST: Watch for a wicked sale coming out Friday, December 20th.)
  • The Content Strategy Course: A new course I’m teaching this February 17th–how to develop content and storylines for thought-leaders. Jam-packed with marketing wizardry, communication templates, and ways to get your voice heard. It’s also $400 as early-bird registration ($500 regular). (OH: And I’m announcing some CRAZY discounts Friday for the rest of 2013 if you’ve been itching to take courses with me. Pay attention.)
  • The Holstee Reclaim Frame ($44) and Art Subscription or Mindful Living Calendar — a new card each month that you slide into the frame, pulling out the previous one as a reminder to send a note to someone. (A great way to practice gratitude!).
  • Inquiry Cards ($25). A new form of meditation–in the form of questions for you to ponder and consider. Great for spiritual healers, coaches, visionaries, or anyone with an inkling to look… inwards.
  • YOUR version of freedom–whatever that means to you. Maybe it means nothing, maybe it means something, maybe it means savings. It’s your money. You choose. Do what’s right for you. These are just ideas.

A note of love, too: spend money consciously. Choose wisely. Whenever I purchase something, I also plan for the amount of time I’m committing to doing the project. Sometimes I know I don’t have enough time, but I sign up anyways because I want the taste of a few days. Other times I’m gunning for financial freedom and bigger goals, so it’s “nope, not this time.”

Do what’s best for you.

The point isn’t about just having to give something (or get something). It’s about giving with love, nurturing yourself, and remembering the spirit of the holidays.

Choose wisely, spend lovingly.

5. And…I’ll probably never be minimalist about books:

You caught me. I love books so much. (This is my current Amazon Book Wish List, and yes, you can totally buy me a book — I’d be honored).

I’ve read several books this year and last year that have been absolutely phenomenal, and I’m working on a master list that you can reference. Right now, I’ll whittle it down to my favorites, a sneak peak:

Philosophy and Spirituality:

  • When Things Fall Apart
  • The Untethered Soul
  • The Gifts of Imperfection
  • The Four Desires

Business:

  • Jab Jab Jab Jab Right Hook
  • The Small Business LifeCycle
  • Body of Work
  • Leaders Eat Last
  • The Sketchnote Handbook
  • The Year Without Pants
  • Growth Hacker Marketing
  • 99U: Maximize Your Potential

Fiction (or Narrative Non-Fiction):

  • Cuckoo’s Calling
  • The Fault in Our Stars
  • The Glass Castle
  • Behind the Beautiful Forevers
  • The Longest Way Home
  • Bend, Not Break
  • Ender’s Game

See more of my book list here: Sarah’s big beautiful book list of joy.

5. Even though I’m fairly minimalist when it comes to some things–I still love everything about gifting, celebration, and surprises of kindness.

So, par for the course: free book giveaways for the holidays!

I love giving things away. Actually, I love giving YOU things. There’s surprise and delight in gifting and telling people that you have a present for them.

Here’s what I have this month to give away to three of YOU:

  • The Sketchnote Handbook, by Mike Rohde (print version).
  • The Untethered Soul, by Michael Singer (kindle version).
  • The Power of Habit, by Charles Duhigg (kindle version).

What should you do to win one of these books?

Leave a note in the comments–and do it by December 28th, midnight, EST. Tell me what you’re grateful for this holiday season. Surprise me.

With big holiday love,

sarah signature

 

 

 

 

Easy?

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Shouldn’t it be easy?

An inside look at what it feels like for me:

There are some days when I can’t get out of bed. Some days when I feel so overwhelmed, tired, and disappointed in myself that I don’t know what to do, or where to begin.

The signs I hang up and the pins I post and the words I copy? They are just reminders to myself, first and foremost. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. Most of the time. I’m just here, trying, just like anyone else.

It’s not easy. “Yoga teacher training,” for example, sounds like an indulgence when I type the letters into my social profiles, cheerily posting about heading off to practice, but the reality of practicing these twenty hours each week is a face-to-face awakening with the mindsets I live with. Each time, I struggle with being too tired, with being scared, and with confronting my “samskaras,” or the past stories and patterns of truth I’ve got imprinted on my brain. I struggle mightily with quieting my mind, and this devil of a mind drives me bat-shit crazy. A lot.

A lot.

Seriously, who writes 20,000 words a week… just to stay sane?

I write to let it out, to maintain my sanity. I’m afraid that I’ll be insane by fifty and mumbling to myself in poverty huddled in a torn jacket in the corner of the subway entrance, and that no one will see me.

None of this is easy.

Here’s the thing, though. It’s not promised to be easy. It’s going to be hard, it’s going to be weird, and there are going to be plenty of days where you’re in a puddle, confused, lost, lonely, or wondering where to go. When I left my job to begin my own company, it was hard—I had to learn (and I’m still learning) new systems, new organization patterns, new habits, how to prioritize—again and again. I had to learn how to work alone. How to be accountable.

The lessons keep coming.

The promise of “easy” is a delusion, sometimes. Is that the point, though? I don’t think any of us, if we really thought about it, said—yes, the only thing I want in this life is the easy stuff. Forget about the rest of it, I’d just like it to be easy.

No, it’s not about the easy. (There is ease, but that’s a different conversation). First, it’s about what you do when it’s not easy. It’s about realizing that even if it’s hard, it can still be beautiful, and you can still make things that matter when you’re tired, lonely, scared, depressed, or bothered.

In the words of my coach, during a particularly arduous sequence of events: “Just f-*king do it.”

“Show me you can do it no matter what.”

This is when you become better than the best. Not when circumstances are perfect. It’s when circumstances are shit and you do it anyways.

Easy?

When did someone sit down and promise you that it was supposed to be easy? Or better yet, fair? It’s not guaranteed to be easy or fair, and the people who get what they want go after it–in spite of and because of–each and every advantage or disadvantage they are thrown.

Sometimes, things are easier than you could have ever imagined–pieces fall into place, the actions a result of agreement finally locking into place in your mind.

Other times, the fight for what you want, what you desire, is harder than you’d ever imagined; it begs you to give up, to stop, to drop. You doubt your desires, you fear the pain. You quiver, you stall. Many give up–no, most give up–and say, you know what? I don’t want it as much as I thought I did. I’m not willing to fight.

But if you want it, if you really, really want it, you’ll make it, you’ll do it, you’ll fight for it.

You’ll keep going even if it’s years of pain and labor, if it’s a fight worth fighting.

You’ll give up the excuses and the hards and tireds and you’ll find a way.

This is when you become better than the best. Not when circumstances are perfect. It’s when circumstances are shit and you do it anyways.

Do it anyway.

The masks we wear–how we hide who we are.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

We all wear masks from time to time: in our words, our habits, and our practices. We have an arsenal of crutches and shortcuts that slowly but surely hide who we are. They are things that prop us up and help us hide. We hide from our feelings and our desires. We hide from who we might become.

We drink coffee as a mask for how tired we are, or to replace what is really a lack of motivation for a certain project we’re involved in.

It masks how tired you are of caring for a newborn infant, or how miserable your boss’s cutting remarks make you.

The alcohol that you drink at night masks the fear and the stress feel from not having control during your day. Perhaps it helps to cover up the loneliness of your cubicle or help you get  through another night.

We project false smiles of protection to hide our fears, to be desirable. We wear high heels and new clothes and carry certain bags and advertisements to show a sense of self, a projection, an idea. We use extroversion to be well liked. We chase busy to mask our fear of not leaving an impact.

We cover a lot of things up. Scars we carry, stories we hold, work we’re afraid of doing.

Our selves, deep inside.

It’s not always bad to have a mask…

It’s not terrible to have masks, but they can’t be our only way of dealing with the world. If we spend the entire time warding off the world and hiding from ourselves, we’ll miss the best parts. By hiding from the world, we hide ourselves, and we lose a piece of our souls.

Many of us have lost touch with ourselves, our souls, with the tender, tired, scared part of itself.

Here’s the catch…

Releasing a mask requires feeling. It requires having a real, honest, scary, less-than-desirable feeling. Letting go of your mask means you might need to say,

By golly, I’m tired.

And no, I don’t want to do this.

Or, I’m scared. I’m scared of messing up. I’m scared of doing a bad job. I’m worried that I won’t be liked. I’m worried that I might try and I won’t be good at it.

Letting the barrier down requires Guts. Honesty. Softness.

Looking at the impulse before we rush to snatch a cover, and breathing in recognition:

Your feelings are clues.

These feelings inside? They aren’t enemies. They are clues. Feelings are way points in an uncertain world, direction markers that guide us back into the brilliance of ourselves, if we’ll allow it. The trouble is it can be uncomfortable and downright painful. Feelings you haven’t had in years might surface to remind you of areas of internal work you still have to do.

And your masks were protection, once.

The masks aren’t all bad. Sometimes pulling down the mask and showing your face requires gentleness and slowness. Your mask might have served you at some point. A therapist in my yoga training reminded me that these coping mechanisms shouldn’t always be disarmed quickly. Children of abuse who learned how to harden and deaden their senses built masks in order to survive those times. These mechanisms and masks were useful–they helped you survive. They got you here. They protected. Unlocking them too quickly without new ways of being can also be damaging.

But at some point, perhaps you might notice you’re still wearing one.

What masks are you wearing?

What masks do you carry?

What do you hide?

Can you lower it for a bit?

With love,

sarah signature

 

 

Looking for a place of love and kindness? Join our upcoming Grace & Gratitude micro-workshop, a two-week journey to cultivate grace and gratitude in your life. Two weeks of daily stories and exercises designed to bring light, love, and joy into your life–one photograph, project, and quote at a time. Sign up here (or give as a gift this holiday). We begin December 1. 

Winter workshop: cultivating gratitude, opening to grace. Begins December 1. Join us.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

ISW_GUMROAD COVER-16-9

Crack.

That moment, when your heart swells in open with thanks.

When a stranger sends you a smile and a whisper.

The unexpected brush of a hand against yours. 

The warmth of the subway air after a walk through frozen city streets. A free coffee from the barista. When a taxi driver waves you forward and lets you ride for free. Waking up a few minutes before your alarm and snuggling under the covers for those unexpected moments while you watch the sun rise. Peeling back the curtains. Holding the door for an eighty-year old woman. Letting someone else take the elevator first. Pausing.

What does it mean to cultivate gratitude?

Realizing that the world around us is far larger than the space of our thoughts. Noticing how much there is to be thankful for. Finding thanks even within the darkest, hardest times. Holding yourself and your community to the highest integrity. Bringing warm soup to strangers. Baking bread for the homeless. Giving your birthday away. Being gentle with yourself.

What does it mean to open to grace?

Grace and gratitude are paramount to building a soft heart, an open mind, and a willing vulnerability.

In the midst of a hard world and in between the demands of your daily life, it can be easy to forget. To forget how important it is to remember the bigger picture. What it’s all about. Why you’re here. What we’re really doing.

It’s a whisper inside of your soul, a reminder.

Join the new digital course: bring more Grace + Gratitude into your life.

This winter, during the holiday season, we’re opening a two-week micro workshop focused on cultivating gratitude  and opening to grace.

It begins December 1.

Two weeks of joy-delivered bundles and stunning exercises (with pages for your own reflection) delivered to your mailbox.

A breath of fresh air.

A sigh of thanks, of gratitude for being here. Being you. Right now. Where you are. Exactly as you are.

PS: It’s a micro-course. Only 2 weeks. And only $75. And only $100 if you buy want two spots. My winter gift.

Read all about the program here (or look up in the menu bar–it’s got a whole page). Sign up here.

You’ll get to learn specific exercises and tools that some of my favorite people use to cultivate a sense of wonder, awe, and joy within their every day lives.

Give yourself the gift of practicing joy. Of building gratitude.Of stepping into small reasons to remember what the holidays are really all about.

What it’s really all about.

And in the spirit of gratitude:  buy one, give one.

In the spirit of gratitude, you can sign up for the workshop for yourself, or you can buy one for you and gift one to a friend. If you want to buy an extra spot as a gift forward anonymously, write “GIFT SPACE” in the email line and I’ll save the spots for people who might be struggling this winter but would love to take the course.

Looking forward to sharing this with you.

With gratitude and thanks for you, exactly as you are.

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Finding your creative flow: 17 writer’s tricks to get un-stuck and start creating

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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I wrung my hands, trying to figure out what to write next. It was a typical afternoon at the computer: Somehow I had amassed more browser tabs than laundry quarters, each of which was threatening to pull me into an endless loop of reading more things on the internet — all conspiring to collect as a massive wave of procrastination in the way of writing the essay in front of me. I closed all the browser tabs. I sighed. Why was I stuck again? Why couldn’t I just WRITE this thing?

While procrastination and distraction are two of the biggest weapons against making your art, the third hurdle to jump is often the problem of getting stuck.

When you’re stuck, you can’t find the right words, time passes endlessly, and you wish fervently for that flow — that moment when words come quickly, your thoughts spill out, and you’re itching to write more. Yet sometimes even when I return to the white page of my blank screen, I get stuck. My thoughts grind to a halt, and I’m not sure where to turn next.

What do you do to get back in creative flow and get un-stuck? As a writer and creative, these are the tools I return to again and again to get myself back into the writing space and find my creative flow.

Start with predictable statements. 

Blank pages, as a writer, can feel demonizing and cruel in their blankness. Sometimes I need to write anything down just to get started. Ray Bradbury found, after several years of writing, that word association was a powerful way for him to start. CARNIVAL, he would write in big capital letters. DANDELIONS. The project continued, each word unfolding into a paragraph and a study, his obsession with these strange, everyday elements turning into prize-winning stories. His word associations turned into explorations of the attic — finding the nooks and crannies in his mind, and chasing what he found both exciting and weird.

Write the banal. Start with where you are. Sometimes it’s garbage, and sometimes the simplest statements are powerful, raw, and beautiful.

Recount your day.

Often writers begin with “throwaway text” that they use to warm up. Summarize your day. Tell the story of where you are, what you’ve been doing, and what you’re trying to do. Even when crafting, I often write out a page of blank notes that describes the type of project and fill pages with sketches of the thing I want to make.

Get specific.

We often get stuck because we’re trying to tackle too much. An entire essay can take me days and weeks — or longer — so today, I focus on one paragraph. Just on one piece. In writing a story about two characters, I begin with the scene, coloring in the frames and spaces with more and more detail. I might spend an entire hour polishing the color and frame of the street lamp and the sidewalks, capturing the changing weather patterns as the seasons move into fall, describing the slippery stoop and broken stairs that the woman calls home. Get specific about one small piece of your project, and focus on that first.

React.

Peruse articles until you find one that stirs up your emotion in some way. Set a kitchen timer if you’re prone to getting lost in browsing, or set up a system that lets you read for a limited time. Browse and jot down notes about what you click on, and what pulls you. Observe that emotion. Find an article that makes you mad or enthusiastic enough to want to write a response. Begin by writing that response.

Mine your conversations for clues.

Often, my essays evolve from comment threads, email chains, and conversations that lead to longer and longer pieces. A comment turns into a paragraph. A paragraph turns into a page. A page turns into an essay. When people ask me questions and I know the answer to them — and I jump in, with lots of ideas and things to say — I’ve learned to become aware of these as golden nugget opportunities for future essays.

Go analog. Slow down.

By pulling out a pen and paper, clearing the table, and simplifying, we can slow down to capture our thoughts and ideas. Slowing down helps us pay attention. As Gwendolyn Bounds writes in the Wall Street Journal, handwriting trains the brain, and slowing down to write by hand helps us learn, convert to memory, and explore new ideas. “It turns out there is something really important about manually manipulating out two-dimensional things we see all the time,” explains Karin Harman James. Using our hands — and crafting physical works, even written works — unlocks new spaces and ideas.

“I write not just to record what I already know, but to discover what’s in my mind.”

Clean.

A cluttered mind can often be the result of a messy situation. Set a kitchen timer for 20 minutes or fewer and give yourself permission to clean and sort. The process of using my hands to clean, sort, and organize often unlocks powerful thoughts in my brain. Doing the dishes is meditative at times. Forcing myself to fold laundry can slow my brain down long enough to catch the thoughts that drift in after I release the pressure to perform.

Set deadlines and use timers.

I’m a big fan of the Pomodoro Technique and kitchen timers. Sometimes less time and more urgency can push us over the edge into massive creation, stimulating our brains with a sense of urgency. I’ll sit and write for one hour, making a bit of a game out of my essays. “Alright, it’s 10AM. Can I get the first complete draft of this done by 11AM? Let’s see if I can get 700 words and a structure all put together by then. Ready? Go!”

Release the negative harnesses.

Ever feel like you’ve got someone watching over your shoulder, breathing down your neck to make sure everything is perfectly done and correct? As best as you can, remind yourself that you are allowed to stumble and stutter, that your writing does not have to be (and likely will not be) perfect the first time around, and that messiness is part of the process.

When the critic comes, which she does predictably for me, observe her. Watch the thoughts pile up, and write them all down. Say to your critic, “Thanks for all of this, I know you’re trying to have my back. I’ll keep these criticisms over here in my notebook, but for now I need to work.” Let your critic take a break.

Add detail and narrow the focus.

For this moment in time, on what you’re creating, focus on one particular element. Find a soothing or repetitive rhythm to it. Perhaps, as a writer, you’re writing about the scene and setting the stage for the actors’ patterns. Describe the street lights in detail, from the luminescent glow in the aftermath of a rainfall, to the painted-black iron stands. Do micro-histories on the pieces. If you’re a craftsman or a technician, begin with one small piece and polish and craft that section until it’s gleaming.

Forget about the entirety of the project. At this moment, be within this moment.

Talk it out. Use your voice.

Explain your idea to someone. Use a voice recorder to explain it. Sometimes I’ll get on the phone with my parents or friends and ask them to chat about an idea for a quick minute. I’ll set a quick record on the voice memo and capture myself explaining it to people. Sometimes I set my voice memo down on the counter and start explaining to the blank walls how things work. I play back the voice memo and write down the notes. The notes on the page start to make sense, and I edit them with my writer’s eye.

Get moving.

Despite how many times we’re told to get moving, many of us never get up and stand up from our desk to take a break and move our bodies. Sitting is terrible for us, and we sit for an average of 9.3 hours a day (nearly two more hours than we spend sleeping!), causing our bodies to lapse into sedentary norms.

The best way to get myself back into flow is to shake out my body for a bit. Do a few jumping jacks. Go for a walk. Take a short jog around the block. Go for a 10-minute bike ride to pick something up. Plan afternoon or evening swims for when the day is winding down and your brain is chattering. Jump in the shower for a 10-minute dunk. Turn upside down and do a handstand against a wall in your office or living room. Stand up and do a few squats. Do a seven-minute workout.

By increasing the blood flow and circulation in our bodies, we can change our thoughts. (For more on this, read SPARK: The Revolutionary New Science of Exercise and the Brain, which looks at the mind-body connection).

Get still.

Breathe. Lay flat across the floor. Sink into child’s pose or downward dog for a few minutes. Take a darkness nap — one of my favorite tricks. Do a darkness nap by going to a very quiet place, eliminating light, and reducing all of the stimulation (close your curtains, put an eye mask on, put earplugs in) and lie flat on the floor or a bed for 7 or 8 minutes. Use a timer to let yourself sink into rest. Like a power boost on a battery, getting your body and mind very still can re-set your mental and creative engines for hours.

Notice and adjust the stimulation.

Adding movement or stillness, as above, are about adjusting and equalizing the stimulation levels in my mind and body. Many times the creative flow is stalled when I am out of sync between my mind and body. My mind is racing forwards or backwards and my body is tired of being still. When the stimulation in my mind — and all of its dissonant bits and starts and bursts of energy — are out of sync with the stimulation in my body, I check in with a quick evaluation: Which one is racing more? Am I twitching and itching in my seat and in my body? Does my mind feel overwhelmed?

Sometimes our brain needs a rest, and our body and senses need to take center stage.
– Stephanie Guimond

Like a washer’s spin that’s gone off cycle, I need to put the two links together again, apace with each other. Adding movement, adding stillness, or adding a counter stimulation (music, water flow, massage) can help ease the frustration and pull me back into balance.

Disrupt your “stuck” with movement or stillness and find a way to balance the simulation in your mind and body.

Drink water.

There’s something magical about water. Drinking a large glass of water cleanses the thoughts in my mind and refreshes my energy levels. In addition to theenormous benefits of hydration, adding water reminds me to get up more often by forcing me to use the toilet more consistently as well.

Develop patterns.

Creativity is largely about creating systems and patterns that reveal (and allow) your best self to emerge. Read any great writer’s habits — Hemingway, Stephen Pressfield’s The War of Art, Stephen King’s On Writing, Ray Bradbury’s Zen in the Art of Writing — and you’ll hear them describe their habits and routines. Some of them race to their desk for hours of uninterrupted morning writing, and others write late at night, but they all have habits and systems that help them get unstuck. The less you have to think about when or how you’re going to do what you’re going to do, and the more you do it automatically, the easier it is to do well. (For more on this, check out The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg).

Be honest.

Have an opinion. Sometimes “stuck” is part of getting angry, upset, or frustrated. You’re pissed off that the piece you wrote hasn’t been picked up yet, you’re upset that a friend treated you poorly; you’re mad at the universe for delivering blow after blow to your health. It happens. Sometimes when I try to write a chipper post and my feelings are anything but, I walk smack into a massive brick wall that says, “Nope, no way. You can’t fool me here.” The way out, fortunately or unfortunately, is often through: I need to work through each of these thoughts and feelings. That’s the heart matter of the day.

More often than not, however, these posts — these raw, vulnerable, frustrated essays that pile up — become the meat and story of future essays, pieces I surprise even myself with.

Remember that getting stuck is part of the creative process — and is often a precursor to great breakthroughs.

If you’re having trouble solving a problem or finding your way back into the flow, try any of these tips or let me know if you have your own peculiar habit that works to get back on track.

This post was originally published with Tara Gentile and Carrie Keplinger on Scoutie Girl in September 2013. 

Are you minimalist enough? An experiment in giving up clothes for a year.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Leaning houses San Francisco

A little over a year ago, I wrote a post on Joshua Becker’s Becoming Minimalist site about giving up clothes for a year–and my experiments with minimalism, living with less, and what felt like too much pressure to whittle down my life to a certain number of items. Here’s how the experiment played out: 

Minimalist enough? Giving up (new) clothes for a year.

“We live in a world of scarcity. Which means we feel like we never have enough.” – Brené Brown

Living in a world of scarcity means that we’re constantly searching for the next thing to fill us up, the next destination or achievement to make us whole. Our world is filled with messages that tell us we don’t have enough space, enough stuff, enough clothes, enough fitness. We’re never skinny enough or pretty enough or good enough or rich enough.

This scarcity model drives consumption and accumulation; it spurs us to want more, to buy things because we think it will fill the void. We press to work harder, to get fitter, to buy more clothes, to acquire more things in the name of filling the hole.

The problem with scarcity, however, is that you can’t fill it or fix it with things.

The answer to scarcity, ironically, isn’t more. It is enough.

What you have is enough. Who you are is enough. As Danielle LaPorte says in her Fire Starter Sessions: “You already have everything you need.”

What about Minimalist Enough?

This cuts both ways, however. As a person with lots of things, and an apartment with hundreds of books, I sometimes feel like my efforts to de-clutter and reduce the number of things that surround me aren’t enough. In my efforts to reduce clutter and consider minimalist–or simplicity–as a strategy, I begin to doubt my efforts in being minimalist. And the thought begins to creep in: I’m not minimalist enough. I see someone who is minimalist and only has 100 things and the internal voice begins again, “I guess I’m not minimalist… enough.”

These attitudes are pervasive and can race around in my head. I can quickly become overwhelmed with the desire to eliminate stuff, lose weight, be better, do more, achieve….more.

But the idea of minimalism isn’t about reaching a goal, or checking off a box, or reaching a certain destination. To me, minimalism is realizing that what I already have is enough, and that adding clutter to the pile won’t make it any better. And chasing a dream of more minimalism is, ironically, not what I’m after either.

To me, as I breathe out and sigh into the life that I’m living, and find gentler ways to tweak, edit, and refine; I find that recognizing what is important and what is not is the most critical exercise.

Stripping away the excess lets us get to the bones of what really matters. Get to the heart space. Get to the pieces that are important. And that level can be different for different people.

For me, minimalism is about having exactly what you need–and the things you love–without having stuff and clutter that overwhelms your life. It’s filling up your time and space with love, not excess.

My Modest Minimalist Journey.

I spent 2011 conducting an experiment in which I decided to stop buying new clothes for the entire year. (There were two exceptions: shoes and underwear, but only as needed). For an entire year, I lived without buying anything new, on purpose. As a female in a clothes-and-image-centric society, I wanted to see what it was like to live without shopping for a while.

I was always dismayed by the number of female friends that were readily going into debt to maintain their image in public. When I thought about it, $400 outfits (the average price on any feature shopping magazine page) can add up to a lot of money if one were to wear a new outfit every day for a year. (Think about it: $400 a day for clothes is $150,000 a year just on clothes—who are we kidding?). You might think I’m joking—but to be perfectly honest, I know people who are $20,000 and $30,000 in credit card debt from clothes shopping alone. The image pressures on females (and males!) can be increasingly intense. As someone with immense graduate school debt to overcome setting off into my twenties, the thought of doubling that debt felt paralyzing. I wanted freedom, not debt.

Yet over the year, as I experimented in my journey of wearing and re-wearing the same outfits hundreds of times, I also found there were times when I got discouraged—especially when I looked around online and saw things like the Versalette by revolution apparel. I inadvertently compared myself to other people who were doing a better job at buying nothing than I was.

But then I realized: I don’t have to be the best or the most minimalist. I can be minimalist enough. Minimalism isn’t about winning, and it isn’t about a particular achievement. It’s about finding out what matters to you, and getting rid of the peripheral.

Over the course of the year, I thinned out my closet and pared down to a few favorite items. I made over twenty trips to charity with bags of clothes and gently worn shoes that I no longer needed. At one point, I had socks and underwear with holes in them, and I got out my sewing machine and fixed them up. Making old things new again was surprisingly satisfying. Getting rid of all of my extra socks—and just having a few pairs to use each day—actually made my life simpler. The process of getting rid of things reminded me of what I liked and what mattered.

Over time, I started to become acutely aware of everything that crossed the physical threshold of my front door. The amount of stuff that piled up around me on a daily basis crept into my consciousness, and I’m still surprised by the amount of clutter we let into our lives each day. Every time I brought something new in—mail, letters, books, ideas, shopping bags—I tried to make a conscious effort that the stuff I was bringing with me was valuable, and that I was also taking enough stuff out of the apartment each day to keep my space maintainable.

Untethering from the need to consume was surprisingly easy. It was the attitude change that made the most difference: looking through my things and realizing I already had enough—that I didn’t have to rush out and buy something new to fill a hole or a need—let me breathe again. It was relaxing and reassuring to know what I had was okay. What you are is already good enough.

I learned, slowly, that having excess stuff was giving me a headache, wasting my time and energy, and wasting a lot of money I wanted to focus on eliminating debt.

Even though the experiment is over, I still carry several of the themes into my current shopping habits: I buy new things that are disgusting to buy used (exercise clothes, underwear, socks, and shoes are typically new purchases); and I buy things new that are very difficult to find used (long-enough pants and long-enough jackets are two of my indulgences); but my favorite place to shop is at a thrift store with a bag of donations in hand–I’ll exchange three old things for a few new things. The smaller my closet, ironically, the happier I have been.

Over time, I will continue to whittle away at the things I don’t need in order to make space for the things I love. It turns out, all those unnecessary clothes were crowding out the space of the things I loved. I got rid of several boxes and cleared off a space for all of my books—one of my loves. Clearing out, to me, is about reducing the unnecessary clutter in your life to make space for what matters, and finding a balance that lets your soul breathe. It’s about stripping away the things you don’t need so you can focus on what’s important.

Sometimes a subtle attitude shift or a small sacrifice can make a big difference. Like taking the time to appreciate that what you already have is enough. And your effort? It’s enough.

Because stuff isn’t what matters.

What you have is enough. YOU are enough. 

To read more about minimalism and check out one of my favorite blogs, see Joshua Becker’s site, Becoming Minimalist.

The power of breath: why breathing happens before anything else.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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It’s not always easy to breathe.

Breathing—the intake of oxygen and the exhalation of carbon dioxide—is life’s essential force. It’s the first step our physical bodies take towards making all other actions possible, including thinking.

In swimming, the rhythm of breathing is essential: you only have a few opportunities to catch a breath; it’s about timing your intake with your arms, kicks, and rotation. Without air, you can’t work the water.

Breath happens before anything.

Out in the open water, in the waves of the ocean, with the salt water sprays and the swells that take over, sometimes I turn my face upwards and a wave slams me in the face. I close my mouth, pass by that opportunity, hold the air in my lungs, and try again on the next cycle. Sometimes it takes a few turns before I get to suck in some oxygen.

My relationship with breathing has always been tenuous: when I was eleven, I was diagnosed with asthma. I learned my lungs were restricting my airways—and it would jump on me like a sudden cold, onset in minutes, causing breathing to be painful.

I would hide my inhalers, because I didn’t want something that gave me a crutch or a reason that I couldn’t be as good as anyone else. I learned how to push my back open against a floor, to rub my lungs to clear them, and how to hold my breath to stop my body from panicking.

I also learned how to hold my breath for a really long time. Getting into the pool every day gave me an intimate familiarity with the ways my lungs worked.

Swimming actually taught me how to breathe again.

Today, three years later, I’ve become an open water swimmer, chasing longer distances with each ocean adventure I find. I will routinely be late to work or leave for long lunch hours just to spend those hours in the ocean, my friend, the place where my soul is restored.

I need to touch the water, to splash, and to feel the curve of a wave beneath my hands. I’ll grab a board, and float out to sea, heart and head against the board, listening and feeling the rhythm beneath my body. My breathing will inadvertently sync up with the ocean swells, and the anxiety of my digital, corporate life gets left ashore. I’ll get up early, earlier than the sun, wander down to the ocean, and get into the water just to tune my body back into the rhythm of the earth.

But I had to learn how.

Your breath: check in with yourself:

First, right now, as you’re sitting at the computer or staring at your screen to read this post: what does your breath pattern look like? Do you notice it? Are you breathing? Some people stop breathing while they are reading, and they raise their shoulders and hold tension in their bodies while at the computer. (A telltale sign is if you let out periodic sighs. Listen to others if you’re in a room, or set an audio-recorder on yourself for an hour. You’ll forget about it and can then listen to the breath sounds play back. It’s fascinating.)

Next, find a space to lie on the floor. Take a deep breath. Take ten slow breaths, with your eyes closed. Push the air all the way in and out of your lungs. Where are the bottoms of your lungs? Where are the tops of them? Can you fill the space entirely?

Practice changing the cadence of your breathing. Take 10 very quick micro-breaths. Feel your rib cage move in and out. Feel your heart race, your pulse jump, feel the reaction.

Breathe again, slowly.

Your breath is the foundation on top of which every other activity takes place. You can train it, just like you can train everything else. Change your body rhythms by controlling your breath.

Breathe.

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I originally wrote this post for Julien Smith’s Homework series during the epic campaign to swim naked from Alcatraz to San Francisco. Breathe is powerful, so I’m reposting as part of this November series while I’m away in Bali. 

Bali, bliss, and a big old birthday: taking a life, work, and digital retreat.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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 “Do great work, and love–that is the meaning of life.”

Bali, bliss, and a big old birthday.

It all started with a single post in February, 2010.

I had just gotten an extra job as a writer paying $10 per post, and I snapped it up. It was my side project. My writing was terrible. I was paid to give advice to new college graduates on how to navigate the corporate world, and despite being a few years into my own career, I still felt like I didn’t know what I was doing.

I started my blog–a friend set me up on a wordpress site and domain (which I didn’t quite understand). I wrote about not working too hard, how to recover from long work days, staying motivated, and allocating for food costs on measly budgets. I wrote book reviews and interviewed my professional friends in sports medicine, biotech, web design and more–to get their insights on what they’d learned on the job and how they crafted their careers.

Did I know what I was doing with the blog? Nope. No idea.

I just knew I wanted to write. So I wrote, every time I felt like I wanted to write about something.

I probably didn’t hit my stride until well after the first year, and I’m still learning. Each post, each month, and each iteration I continued to refine and hone my writing. I wandered through styles and posts and wrote about topics that felt like I should write about, but that truthfully I didn’t adore. But even though I didn’t know what to write about, I still wrote. I whittled. It got better. I adjusted. I said more about what I was thinking and feeling, less about what I thought people wanted to hear. It got better.

Fast-forward nearly four years later:

I’m celebrating. Big time.

I love (LOVE) what I do. I discovered an incredible connection with the written word, and I write as often as I can. I get to share it in community with other like-minded and incredible souls. I am blown away by the people I’ve met, and I’m so grateful to be a part of this. I celebrate through hard work, through experimentation, through hugs, and through trial-and-error. Tears and laughter are part of the process.

Because I’m celebrating a lot of things in this life right now, I’d love for you to join me in celebrating my birthday, this blog, and the community we share.

When I left my job earlier this year, I left in order to focus on a couple of things: movement (or health in my body), writing, and teaching. In the last few months, I’ve also started my own business, enrolled in yoga teacher training, launched several programs, and taken action on several dreams that had been sidelined for too long.

In order to do this, I saved for five years, paid down big piles of debt; gave up clothes shopping for a year; experimented with minimalism, sewing machines, and free-cycling; worked several side jobs, and hustled to make things work. I sold my car (finally), soaked up and swept up as much knowledge as I could, met incredible souls, friends and teachers, created new things, and built project after project.

Big, sweeping changes have happened alongside smaller, less outwardly-visible changes. Across all of this has been an emphasis on health, healing, and happiness. On mindfulness, movement, and growth.

Beyond the tactical and structural (quitting my job! signing up for yoga! moving! God, it sounds so much easier writing it!), there are also mental shifts changing, aligning, and expanding as I spend time listening and growing.

“You don’t have to be so busy,” the softer voice in my mind reminds me. “It’s okay to pause, reflect, and live inside of this quiet, vibrant stillness.” When I feel things–the sadness, the anger, the fear, the totality of being human–I spend more time resting in it, moving in it, moving through it. We work together, me and my emotions. It’s the human condition.

amber zuckswert teaching yoga in Bali

Amber Zuckswert teaching yoga in Bali.

Birthday bliss: taking a break in Bali.

In the spirit of health and healing, for my 30th birthday–and in honor of the work I’ve done over the past several years–I’m taking a digital sabbatical and sojourning to beautiful Bali paradise with Amy Rachelle and Amber Zuckswert for two weeks of meditation, yoga, reflection, and emotional healing. Bali is known as one of the most healing places in the world, and I’m joining a retreat group that’s focused on learning how to craft raw foods, heal the soul, and engage in mindfulness and meditation practices.

Nearly a decade ago, I started my career in architecture and design and I’ve been working nonstop ever since. For the last few years, I’ve been dreaming of taking a restful vacation–and yet I kept pushing it off. I promised myself that when I hit thirty, I’d take at least a few weeks to rest, recover, and recalibrate.

Beyond just a “vacation,” I’m opening up the mental space (and nooks and crannies!) for a reconsideration and reflection on what I’ve done, who I’ve become, and what I want to build. This marks the beginning of a different year in my life: one that’s less focused on being frenetic and more focused on being present. It’s time to celebrate, reflect, restore, and be fully Sarah–in the present, and in the moment.

I’ll be offline while I’m gone – completely unplugged and digitally unavailable – but in advance, I’ve written a series of essays that are coming out over the next few weeks.

In the spirit of reflection, birthdays, and changing decades:

This week I’ll transition out of the twenty-something decade and into the next decade (Holy smokes! I’m turning 30!). Last year we celebrated by raising $32,398 for charity: water for my 29th birthday, and the year before I wrote 28 in 52 notes, a years’ worth of lessons in one post.

In the spirit of letting things go, moving forward, taking care of yourself, and celebrating the year, here’s my annual birthday post–although I’m sure I’ll have a bigger round-up of notes and thoughts from unplugging in Bali. It can’t be a birthday without a bit of reflection on some of the learnings and highlights from the year. Here’s what I’ve learned (and am always learning):

Going pro, turning 30, and the biggest lessons from this year.

Place a lot of bets.

Try a lot of things. A year is a long time, and five years is a great amount of time to make more than just one thing happen. You can work a side hustle on the side of your day gig in a few minutes a day–write one page every other day and see what happens in a couple of months. Throw your work into the ring, and keep making your work. Try one connection or conference, and another. Don’t put all your money on one thing if you’re just starting. Get started, and test out a few things.

Be modular.

Build in iterative, successive capacities. Try things until something works, then adjust it so it works better. Put it out there. Keep going.

Do not work in isolation.

Seek feedback.

Ask for help.

Ask for everything. The more you ask, the more you get.

You don’t have to do what anyone else does.

You can do things no one has done before, you can be weird, you can be strange, and you can decide to do it differently than anything you’ve seen before. Be aware of the sheep mentality. Ask for exceptions. Modify the program to fit your needs. Learn about yourself, and make it better so you get better.

Take care of yourself.

You are the only one who can take care, and those small things—like going to sleep early, giving hugs, smiling, eating good food? They mean the world. Take very good care of yourself.

When you get better, the world benefits.

It’s not selfish.

The more you push, the more resistance there might be. Do it anyway.

The ego yells a lot of loud and scary things at you when you’re heading into moments of insight and brilliance. The more brilliantly you shine, the louder your ego–the voice that wants you to worry, to stay comfortable, to stay the same, to do things that feel safe–the louder it shouts. Listen to it like the dull roar of a stadium filled with fans, and not the shouty-shout voice it’s trying to be.

It really can be wonderful.

Be you.

“Be Sarah,” I write on my wall. (Thank you, Gretchen Rubin for the reminder to “Be Gretchen.”) Be you. “There’s nobody you-er than you,” says Doctor Seuss. Let yourself be you, deliciously and deliriously you. And the more YOU you are, the more wonder there is.

We all have self-doubts, demons, and critics.

And we all have stories. The person across from you is holding pain, hurt, and fear just like you are. We’ve all got something. Be kind and generous with their soul, and kind and generous with your own. Cradle your heart in the softness of the hammock of your ribs. Let it rest, fully, in the feeling of a breathe. Fill your lungs with love for you and the world around you, despite the pain.

Give up on dreams that you’ve tried on or dreams that you realize aren’t yours.

It’s not giving up if you don’t want it. For the longest time I had a dream to run a marathon by age 30–until I realized that I loved swimming, singing, dancing and yoga far, far more than running. And picturing myself at the end of a marathon just made me feel tired, not thrilled or excited. So sweep! I let that dream head on out the door. It wasn’t mine–it was just visiting. Finish it or punt. Know when to quit.

You don’t have to know how to explain yourself perfectly.

You can use as many words as you like, and you can screw up many times. It’s all fine. Start somewhere, tell a little story, and bit by bit we’ll get the picture.

Stories are how we understand and see the world.

We use stories to understand complex phenomenon and hang onto information. Watch, study, and listen carefully to the stories you’ve programmed in your brain and the stories you tell yourself about who you are. Changing the stories you tell yourself (through visualization, practice, and manifestation) can be incredibly powerful.

If it’s too big to do, make it smaller.

Seeing is an art, a study.

We’re designed to throw away most of the stimulus we receive because it’s too much to comprehend—we’re constantly simplifying things in our mind in order to understand them. The challenge of writing and of art is to learn how to see the world around us anew. If you want to learn how something works or how its made and marvel at it, try to draw it. Pull out a pen or pencil, a sheet of paper, and practice mapping the object onto the page. Rather than say that it’s impossible, or say that you’re terrible at drawing, study why you drew what you did. This is your brain schema, at work. This is the translation of space in the world into products in your hand. Keep practicing. Fix the little wiggles. Notice when you make a simple curve instead of the parabolic curves of the real thing.

Good is the enemy of the great.

(From Jim Collins): Iterate towards great, but also remember that complacency, comfort, and “good enough” are some of the most insidious enemies of making great work.

Being comfortable is not my end goal.

There’s so much joy on the other side of myriad discomforts: freedom, expression, learning, connection – many of these things can come after a bit of leaning into your edge. Yoga poses unlock freedom despite various levels of discomfort held in our joints. The payoff is expansion, self-awareness, reducing pain, and freedom. It’s worth it.

At the same time, understand when you’re pushing too hard, and when to yield to the universe.

When to soften, because the things will arrive in their good time. When to yield to grace, and move without force. Leaning into discomfort is not the same thing as pushing forcefully into all arenas.

Healing, health, and care are critical.

We all work too hard. It’s not about hustling indefinitely, although many folks hustle for decades before getting a break–it’s also about taking the time to heal yourself, help yourself, and be kind to yourself in the present moment. Health is critical. In my pursuit of projects, I’ve often sacrificed wellness in the aim to create great works. I’m softening this, and attempting to learn how to receive rest and healing even amidst the busy-ness.

And when I get back…

When I return, I’ll be hosting a micro-workshop focused on cultivating gratitude and grace in your spirit, life, and daily practices. It will begin on December 1st, and I’ll share the full details when I return. If you’re looking for inspiration to reflect, restore, and to practice more grace and gratitude in your lives, I encourage you to check back in late November for how to join the workshop. It will be delightful.

And as my birthday present:

By the time this post goes live, I’ll be curled up into a sleeping position with my jammies and my hat in an airplane heading forward in time to my destination. I’d love to hear from you while I’m gone, however, in the comments: share with me something–a gift, joy, or grace–that you’re giving to yourself of someone else this week.

How are you taking care of yourself? What gifts of grace can you give to yourself? What does healing look like for you?

With big internet hugs,

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