Ten Ways to Use Storytelling to Improve Your Ability to Connect and Communicate

Humans are born storytellers. The way we tell and share our stories about who we are, what we do, and what we want. This, in turn, affects who sees us, hears about us, and whether or not the right people connect with us.

When you want to learn how to describe yourself or your business, people look to storytelling as a way to improve their core message. But what is storytelling? And how do you actually get better at it? The word is vague and yet so appealing — but it can be difficult to know where to start, and how to use what you learn in your everyday practice.

This section will look at some of the core truths about stories and storytelling — and I’ll share a few tools that are practical and that you can implement quickly for many communication needs, ranging from a personal biography to the description of your company.

Storytelling is a fundamental human tool that we all do innately — but over time, we’ve been bombarded with terrible examples of storytelling that aren’t good models to look to. Our brains are wired for storytelling — because it helps us learn, explore, and retain information through second- and third-hand experiences.

What are stories and who tells them?

Stories are innately human: everyone is a born storyteller.

When you recount events that you’ve done — even the simple sentence as you walk through the door, “You won’t believe what just happened — first I went to the grocery store, then…” — your ears prick up. You’ve set up the most basic form of a story: do you know what it is?

Here’s another example — “The beach was dark and quiet. It was eerie — the moon was dark and someone had turned off all the lights on the boardwalk. Alison felt uneasy as she stepped nervously out into the dark. Who had turned out all the lights?”

Both of these examples use a very specific form of storytelling that we’re all hardwired to understand. Do you know what it is?

I’ll explain it today as we deconstruct storytelling. But first, I want to debunk a few myths about storytelling. Somehow we think that only an elite few can be storytellers, and it’s a skill that we don’t have.

Common storytelling principles:

#1: Everyone is a storyteller.

It’s sometimes thought that storytelling is limited to an elite few, or a professional clique. In reality, that’s not true—all humans are born storytellers, and we’re born to look for, hear, and describe our world in stories. Children are born telling stories — in fact, we play for exactly this reason. Play is our built-in mode of imagining the future and the past. In telling stories, and playing make-believe, we’re able to learn at a much faster pace than if we had to rely only on our own experience.

We are learning creatures. We learn by experience — and through our imagination. When something good happens to us, that’s a reward. When something bad happens, there’s a punishment. These incentives teach us over time. In stories, we get to pick up and enter into the landscape of someone else’s learning — and learn for ourselves, even though we may be sitting in one place, not moving. When someone comes back to us and says, “Avoid Atlantic avenue, it’s crazy full of traffic,” we select a different route because we got information — and a story – about someone else’s experience.

#2: We tell stories to connect, dream, and imagine.

We use storytelling to connect inwardly to ourselves, outwardly towards others, and to imagine futures. Humans spend up to four hours per day inside of imaginary landscapes — in daydreams, thoughts, visualizations, and places beyond the present. We live in a world of stories.

#3: Stories are how we are hardwired.

Prior to written language, we had to keep important information about the world around us, somehow. We’ve constructed melodies, songs, and other modes of storing information. Is it any coincidence that “storing” and “storytelling” are related? We are hardwired to remember cause and effect relationships — I saw a spider, that spider killed my friend, spiders are bad. “REMEMBER THIS!” Shouts your brain.

In research in The Storytelling Animal by Jonathan Gottfried, he talks about how we actually make up stories all the time, whenever we see two events happening. If we see a group of women and they’re all wearing tiny shorts, we might tell as story to ourselves about how they are all going to the beach. In research on people with their two brain hemispheres segmented or separated, they discover that our brains actually wire stories into our minds when presented two pieces of information. This brings us to idea #4.

#4: A story is what you take with you.

In any situation or setting, a story is what you take with you. When giving a presentation or sharing your brand or idea, what someone walks away with is the story. They’ve taken all the information they’ve been given and distilled it into the easiest parts to remember.

Bonus tip #1 — at conferences and in introductions. At a conference, if you babble and ramble when introducing yourself to people, they’ll forget most of what you said. If you string it into a story, and you keep it simple, people will be able to take that with you. You don’t need to get all the perfect information into one sentence; in fact, being imperfect can prompt likability and curiosity!

A quick and easy test for how good your story is is to listen in to what’s being said. Introduce yourself to someone, and then listen to when they introduce you. I’ll often keep it simple — I focus on writing and swimming, and I’ll say, “I work as a writer; I teach writing, and I’m also an open-water swimmer.”

When I’m being introduced, Clay leans over and grabs his friend and says, “You gotta meet Sarah, she’s a swimmer!” — I listen to what people hang on to.

A story is what you take with you. Listen to what people catch from your descriptions, and guide your story towards what people naturally keep bringing up!

#5: We are surrounded by far too many examples of bad storytelling — powerpoints, inadequacy marketing, and droll presentations have numbed our innate ability to tell stories.

Unfortunately, we’re surrounded by terrible examples of storytelling. In Story Wars, by Jonah Sachs, he talks about all the sins of modern storytelling — from Vanity to Authority and more. Basically, the last century of mass broadcasting let the leaders in charge of storytelling get lazy. There’s too much talking about yourself, not listening to the audience, and shouting lists. Technology (like powerpoint) even encourages bad storytelling by putting bullets and lists as the mode of operation.

#6: When you sell anything — yourself, a brand, a business — you tell a story.

When you sell things, you tell a story. It’s not about the thing at hand — lists are bad. Think about a toothbrush. You’re not selling a plastic stick with a bunch of flexible bristles on it. You’re selling the idea of a cleaner mouth. Why is that clean mouth important?

Think about Listerine: you’re not selling a bottle of alcohol, you’re selling … a date. The ability to be well-liked. Advertisements are stories about who you are and who you should be, and they want to capitalize on something deeper than the physical thing that they are selling. What do they believe about human nature? What story are they telling you, implied or otherwise?

How you can improve your storytelling today.

#7: Your English teacher was right — it is about “showing” versus “telling.”

Too often we jump straight to the point. “It was the hardest day of my life.” “The thing is, simplicity matters.” “Never underestimate the power of a good friend.”

Whatever your core philosophical statement, usually it’s often unsaid. Just like the toothbrush examples before, the point of your story isn’t to beat someone over the head with the idea, but rather to SHOW it through lots of vivid detail and an example that highlights your core philosophy. For example —

[It was the hardest day of my life.] vs: I’d just finished a fourteen hour shift in the cement factory. I had no idea what my dad did, so that summer I signed up to join him at work. Three days in, and I could barely lift my hands. My forearms burned, and my calves were shot from jumping in and out of the trucks. I’d probably lifted more than a hundred sacks of cement mix in and out of the truck.

[Never underestimate the power of a good friend.] vs: I’d just found out that my grandmother had passed, and I couldn’t make it home in time. My job had closed the week before, our office putting up the ‘for sale’ sign after more than 8 months in the red. On the bus ride home through the foggy drizzle of Portland’s grey fall days, I wondered how I could pay for groceries for the rest of the week. As I got off the bus, I saw someone sitting on my stoop. Probably another homeless person, I muttered, thinking I’d be one soon myself. As I got closer, I saw that it was Alex, holding two bags of Indian food takeout. He wrapped me in a big hug. “I thought that you could use this today,” he explained, pointing to the food. “Let’s eat.”  

#8: Detail, detail, detail. The environment matters — because you’re telling someone about a world they’re imagining through your descriptions.

Great storytelling is about detail — but a specific kind of detail. How do you set the stage and the context for what’s happening? What does it feel like to be you? Stories immerse us in an event far away from where we are, catapulting us into a new time and space. Key descriptions anchor us into this new space through the use of all of the senses — smell, sight, touch, taste, sound, texture, even kinesthetics. Begin by describing the world around you, in vivid sensory detail. The English language has thousands of words to describe the subtle differences in texture and weight and material. Tell the story of what the world looks like. Great fiction books often begin with these details — take a look at 1984 or Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for great opening scenes that write about detail.

With written narrative, all we have are words — versus in film, where we can show rich detail through visual imagery. In writing, all we have are words — and choosing words and describing the environment and scene, in detail, is what brings someone into your story.

#9: Introduce conflict — by using the “bait” method.

Here’s a secret about the human brain: we all like to be smart. We like to figure things out, and know the answers to things. Whenever we are presented with a puzzle, we like seeing if we can figure it out before someone else does.

In storytelling, a great way to engage your audience is to add a teaser at the beginning. By using a little bit of bait, you stoke the curiosity in your listener’s mind. Ira Glass talks about this often, and if you introduce a story with an underlying question (like “the house was eerily dark,” or “it was a different night than any other,”) the listener begins to wonder why it was so dark, or why the night was different.

This “curiosity gap” between a piece of information that asks a question, and the story that resolves the question, helps the reader stay engaged and curious about the story. A little bit of conflict introduces a puzzle to be fixed!

#10: Shorter is often better. Keep it simple!

At the end of the day, a story is what you take with you — and we don’t remember every detail of every story, but rather, the highlights real. When you’re presenting your idea, biography, or product, start with something short and sweet.

Conclusions and take-aways: journaling and practice.

What did you take away from this introduction to storytelling? How can you change your story to make it sweeter, simpler, and easier to understand?

Here are a few ways to take your work forward in your journal and practice:

  1. Practice: how can you write a one-sentence description of who you are that’s super simple? What three keywords or nouns would you use to describe you? Think of it as a gift to your audience — the less you say, the more they can remember.
  2. Writing exercise: describe your environment, in vivid detail. What is the shape of the space that you are in? What does it smell like, taste like, sound like?
  3. Bookmark 10 great “About” pages that you love and highlight what stands out to you. What techniques and styles are used that you particularly admire?
  4. Take a quick look at your email inbox (but don’t get lost in it!). Take a screen shot of your inbox and print it out. Highlight what’s already been read, and what you’ve skipped. Are there any themes? Look at what you click — which email titles are stories? Which ones are boring? What do you skip over? Your inbox is a great case-study for clues to how storytelling works in your everyday life. What can you learn?

PS: My new course on Content Marketing — how to grow your audience, understand your customers, and publish content that actually gets shared — goes live this Thursday, February 26th. We have 3,801 people signed up on the early-access list, and we’re opening up a limited number of spaces for 48 hours. If you want to join us, take a look and sign up for the early access list

Why is moving so hard? The struggle to lighten up, give up, and let go.

Moving out — moving on

“Have nothing in your homes that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” — William Morris.

Everything changes.

I just emptied an apartment full of furniture, things, stories, and stuff. I carried couches, desks, and pieces of furniture up and down (and up and down) many flights of stairs across hilly San Francisco. I donated 600 books and gifted them to friends across the city.

Moving is so freeing and yet so hard.

And I wrapped up a life living in this beautiful home, this beautiful city, with so many good friends.

“We’re making space for new adventures,” my husband reminded me. “Don’t keep anything you don’t remember you had in the first place.”

But it’s so hard. The labor of moving everything. The memories.

Moving is exhausting. The energy of lifting, analyzing, purging, and letting go — it’s no small task. When I got overwhelmed recently in the pile of stuff that somehow accumulates around one’s home, I went online in a desperate plea to my minimalist friends — “Help!” I said, “How do I do this?”

Joshua wrote back a simple truth — and it made me laugh:

“You are not your dishtowel.” — Joshua Fields Millburn

Right. Right!

I am not my things.

I get to keep the stories, the memories, the transformation. My life is not a couch. My memories are not held inside of a sofa.

When I got back to New York this weekend, I decided to continue the cleansing: we piled up four more bags of books and clothes and cleaned out our home. More and more, I’m inspired by lightness, ease, minimalism, and letting go — letting go of past stories, details, habits, and junk.

Why do we each need to keep our own personal bookshelves? If I need a book in the future, I’ll borrow it or get a digital copy. I trust that the world will have this information, regardless of whether or not I house the words within my own tiny square-foot home. I do not need to own hundreds of books to continue to thirst for knowledge.

“There are two ways to be rich: One is by acquiring much, and the other is by desiring little.” — Jackie French Koller.

“Simplicity involves unburdening your life, and living more lightly with fewer distractions that interfere with a high quality life, as defined uniquely by each individual.” — Linda Breen Pierce

What is the weight of holding on to all these “things”?

Plus: what is the weight of carrying around a hundred books I haven’t read yet? The oppressive weight of “should” on my shelf must hold substantial weight in my mind, pinning me down to past wishes, thoughts, and dreams.

What if I free up that shelf space — mental, physical, karmic? Send those books to places they will be loved and cherished, rather than collecting dust in my own life? Root to rise, my yoga mantra. My roots come from my community, my connections, my spirit. My rise comes from weightlessness, expansiveness, ease. If I hold on to unread books, I hold on to unfinished committments. A bookcase full of shoulds and one-days and look at what you haven’t done staring down at me in my morning meditation.

“Any half-awake materialist well knows – that which you hold holds you.” — Tom Robbins.

The sadness of leaving + the freedom of space.

As I prepared to leave San Francisco, my home — my only permanent residence for most of my waking life — I kept tearing up about the friends and the people I would miss. Would giving up my home and apartment mean I could never come back? And then my friend Leah reminded me that I’ll always be back. The cool whispers of San Francisco’s foggy oceans will also be one of my homes.

“You’re family here. We’ll have space for you whenever you return. It’s not about the couch. Just come, whenever you want. It can be easy.” 

And I remember that I get to keep all the stories, all the memories. I so grateful to this beautiful coastal city and to the rich community of people I have met over the years. I love it here.

And I love what’s next, even if I have no idea what it is.

Let go of what’s not serving you, even if it’s as innocuous as books. Make space for your future self. 

To adventure, creative living, the sharing economy, and change.

And as Carol Pearson writes, to a new story, to a new narrative:

“Most of us are slaves of the stories we unconsciously tell ourselves about our lives. Freedom begins the moment we become conscious of the plot line we are living and, with this insight, recognize that we can step into another story altogether.” —Carol S. Pearson, The Hero Within

To an adventure. To freedom.

For more quotes on simplicity and minimalism, check out Joshua Becker’s list of inspiring quotes on minimalism — many of which I used as part of this essay. 

Want to be a better storyteller? Two new online workshops, April 24th and 29th.

Humans are born storytellers. The way we tell and share our stories about who we are, what we do, and what we want affects who sees us, hears about us, and whether or not the right people connect with us.

If you want to learn how to describe yourself or your business (or both), join me at one of the following live storytelling workshops.

I’ve taught storytelling and narrative writing workshops live across the country—from the World Domination Summit to Bold Academy to General Assembly, and now I’m teaching two of these workshops as live online webinars that you can access from anywhere. Previously these workshops were only offered in person—if you’ve wanted to attend a class (or you’re curious about the upcoming writer’s workshops), join this one-day class.

Join me on Thursday, April 24 and Tuesday, April 29 for two 90-minute sessions on storytelling, narrative, and psychology.

“One of the best classes I’ve ever taken at General Assembly.” — Craig, General Assembly workshop participant
“Amazing class. I learned so much—left with pages packed full of notes.” — Joel, WDS workshop participant. 

Storytelling 1.0: Crafting narratives for individuals and businesses. Thursday, April 24th, 1pm EST. $30.

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WHAT YOU’LL LEARN: This introductory class will cover narrative form and storytelling tools that are practical and quickly implementable for many communication needs ranging from a personal biography to the description of your company. Understand the role of your audience; the psychology of your readership, and why asking certain questions will make storytelling much easier.

You’ll learn how to dissect the various mediums where messages are told, how to modify your story based on the place you’re telling it; how to identify your values and your audience’s values, and the power of lyrical descriptions in your story. We’ll also cover basic psychological principles of understanding and why this is important for how you craft your message.

HOW IT WORKS: This private online webinar will be hosted LIVE at 1PM EST. The webinar includes 90-minutes of lecture, visual, and presentation materials followed by 30-minutes of open question-and-answer sessions—ask anything you’d like and get feedback on your story + listen in to the questions of others!

Can’t make it live? The webinars will be recorded with a private link of the recording sent out to all participants.

PREPARATION: Bring pens, paper, and notebooks to write on. Bring a draft of your current biography and/or business description (you’ll be asked to re-write it during the webinar based on the key principles we cover).

Register here: Storytelling 1.0: Live Webinar, Thursday, April 24th 1—3pm EST. $30.

“Sarah goes over five different frameworks for how to tell stories — this was the first time the Hero’s Journey really made sense to me in a modern context.” —Anne S.
“I never thought about how important value systems were to storytelling—once she described it, it was a huge “Ah-ha” moment for me. Now I know which stories to tell when.” — Jeremy H.
“The simple idea that we all have many stories to tell took a lot of the pressure off—we don’t need to pick just one story. We can switch them out based on our audience and the medium.” — Leslie.

Storytelling 2.0: Leadership, sticky messages and the psychology of persuasion. Tuesday, April 29th 1pm EST. $30.

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ABOUT THIS CLASS: This second session of the two-part storytelling series can be taken independently or in conjunction with Storytelling 1.0. In this class, we look at the stories that great leaders use to inspire; why (and how) to use emotion in your stories, and the persuasive benefits of a great story. This class includes a deeper dive into case studies of great stories (and not-so-great stories) to better grasp the concepts. In our time together, I’ll even show how Finding Nemo can teach us how to engage audiences from the beginning of your story with clever hooks and curiosity gaps.

HOW IT WORKS: This private online webinar will be hosted LIVE at 1PM EST. The webinar includes 90-minutes of lecture, visual, and presentation materials followed by 30-minutes of open question-and-answer sessions—ask anything you’d like and get feedback on your story + listen in to the questions of others!

Can’t make it live? The webinars will be recorded with a private link of the recording sent out to all participants.

Register here: Storytelling 2.0: Live Webinar, Tuesday, April 29 1—3pm EST. $30.

“It makes so much sense—leadership stories are different than other stories, because the objectives are different. Now I can see how people tell future-based stories and I realize how powerful they are.” — Sam
“This class takes a deep dive into your own personal Hero’s Journey narratives based on the work of Carol Pearson—I finally understood how I was living out my own Orphan narrative. This class was better than therapy.” —(Anonymous).
“Sarah is one of the warmest and kindest people I know. Work with her, she will be a change-maker and an incredibly valuable asset to your team or life.” — Jana Schuberth, Owner, Love Work Now

What’s in the trunk? A mysterious tunnel inside the house… and some of the things I’m so grateful for.

Thanksgiving Trunk

What’s in the trunk?  

My dad just moved to Colorado and I’m here for the week, visiting for the first time. The cold, snowy mountains outside of Denver are filled with deer, elk, and other creatures that wander up to the backyard and say hello. (There’s also a new dog in the family that’s a giant 1-year old puppy. I really mean giant. But I digress).

As they were showing me the house, we stopped and took a look at this trunk standing up against a wall in one of the bedrooms. My stepmom cracked up when she showed it to me–“Guess what’s in it!?” 

When you open in up, the trunk is completely empty. So… what goes inside?

It turns out when you look at the bottom there’s just a hole in the floor. Or rather, it’s a verified secret chamber that they added to the house.

What the heck?

When they moved in, in addition to knocking walls and windows down and building new counters and cabinets (she’s an interior designer; she can’t help it)–she knocked a hole in the floor to create a laundry chute. When they lift the trunk lid, they  drop laundry down to the room below. Rather than leave an unsightly hole, she put this trunk over the top of it.

But that’s not the best part: take a look at what’s stenciled across the entire outside of the trunk.

On the outside, she wrote all of the things she was thankful for. (You’ll see my name on there!) Every time she does laundry, she gets to use a small piece of furniture that reminds her just how much she has to be thankful for.

How cool is that?

It’s that time of year: what are you thankful for?

Gratitude is a practice and can take hundreds of different forms. You’re probably inundated with thoughts of kindness–and that’s one of the reasons this is one of my favorite times of the year. From the breath we take to closing our eyes and appreciating the simple gift of being alive–there is so much to be grateful for. We can practice gratitude in our appreciation of the small things, by adding little rituals into our lives, and by reaching out and telling someone that you’re thankful for them. (You can learn several of these inspiring tools in our upcoming Grace + Gratitude workshop, beginning December 1).

Through these little acts, we can literally reprogram our brains. Over time, they have a huge effect.

I am thankful.

I am thankful for courage, of which the latin root (cor–) doesn’t mean bravery, but rather it comes from the latin word for heart. As Brene Brown writes, courage originally meant “to speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.” Courage is the act of gratitude: of speaking your heart, and letting your voice be heard.

I am grateful for my imperfections, and the grace to be able to acknowledge them each time I goof up. I am grateful for mistakes, because they mean that we’re living and moving.

I am grateful for time, and for the present. For this delicious moment. For the wonder of being here at all. (It’s really crazy if you start to think about it.)

I am grateful for experience, because it is the best teacher, even if it’s mighty uncomfortable.

I am grateful for the internet, for connecting online, for meeting so many friends who can see me more fully through my writing than I’m sometimes able to explain in person.

I am grateful for my family, a rambunctious and boisterous bunch who likes to sit on top of each other, no matter how big the house. We’ll just pile on top of each other like a football stack, dogs and cats and kids and blankets and everything.

Every day, I’m thankful for the gift of life and for living. I am thankful for breathing, which is made particularly poignant when I’ve experienced losing my breath.

I am thankful for swimming, dancing, moving, and singing.

I’m thankful for my hands, because hands are so weird and wonderful and downright cool in their digits and bends and abilities to do what we command them to do so tirelessly.

I am grateful to teach and I am thankful for all of the studying I get to be a part of in order to become a better teacher.

I am grateful for you, reading this, building a community online, being a part of this space. I cherish you and I hear from so many of you. Through you, I’ve learned how important writing is, and how telling stories—my job in this world, in this time—is for showing various ways of thinking and being and becoming and doing. For that, I’m truly humbled and grateful.

There’s so much I’m thankful for this season.

What are you thankful for this season?

And if you have a gratitude post, link it up in the comments and I’ll read it this holiday–I love reading about what you’re doing!

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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. 

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

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. 

Step Out Of Your Comfort Zone: Why We Should Strive to Die Empty by Todd Henry

SWIM OUT TO IT

The cold water shocked my arms and sent a panic message from my limbs to my brain–and my heart.

I was set to make a big swim–a 1.5 mile arc from San Francisco’s Alcatraz Island to Ghirardelli Square, the famed Alcatraz swim. The thing is, I said I would do it naked as part of a bet. It was time to fulfill my end of the bargain.

Sliding off a boat wearing nothing and splashing into sub-sixty degree water was anything but comfortable. The shock of the cold water screamed against my skin, every neuron firing a warning sign in my brain telling me to stop. Swimming naked from Alcatraz was not a good idea. It wasn’t safe, it wasn’t easy, and it certainly wasn’t comfortable.

Pushing past your boundaries into scary, new, difficult–and certainly uncomfortable–places is one of the key rules to unleashing your potential.

I’m inside of another book this week, reading the last pages of Todd Henry’s latest book, Die Empty: Unleash Your Best Work Every DayThe book is a minefield for great ideas on building a life (and body of work) that you’re proud of. From shaping the decisions you make (and recognizing that decisions are powerful, albeit painful), to understanding why mediocrity is so rampant, to listening to your emotions and jealousy as information on areas to improve–it’s taken me a long time to read this book because each of the ideas is sifting and settling in my mind as I try to incorporate them into my life.

What does it take to get uncomfortable?

“To make a valuable contribution, you have to get uncomfortable and embrace lifelong growth and skill development.” –Todd Henry, Die Empty.

You don’t need to strip off all your clothes and jump into a freezing body of murky water to get uncomfortable–although doing so certainly helped a tribe of friends and family pull together $32,398 for charity: water. In your own life, however, getting uncomfortable is critical for growth. For stretching, building, clarifying, and growing.

In “Step Out of Your Comfort Zone,” Todd looks at what he calls “dark rooms” that we like to avoid–places its easier not to go into, because we feel safer outside.

We protect ourselves in the following ways:

  • We’re afraid of harm — and we take big steps to stay out of harm’s way, but then inadvertently miss all of the good stuff of life
  • We protect our identity — we want to “live with the illusion of invulnerability” instead of ever risking failure.
  • We love stability — and “the more there is to protect, the less people are willing to try new things.” We risk losing out on all of the future good by holding on too tightly to what’s around us. (This is why good is often the enemy of the great).
  • Our ego wants control — and so even when we’ve made poor choices, we want to stand by our ego and our decision for fear of being wrong.

Why should we bother getting uncomfortable? Because growth is messy and uncomfortable.

“Growth is painful, messy, and very uncomfortable, and occurs only when we are willing to stretch ourselves in order to accept new challenges.” — Todd Henry.

Back in the open water, the salty cold bay water bit into my mind and the chill seared my body in places that were normally protected by fabric. I was crazy to be doing this, wasn’t I?

I pushed my arms the way I’d trained for decades, and stroked to the edge of the island. I touched it, standing, nude, shivering in the early morning fog. I splashed quickly back in the water and put my face down. Great stories aren’t made sitting on the sidelines, or curling up on the couch.

It was time to swim.

When is the right time to make change? The changing of seasons is the perfect time to re-fresh and re-invest.

Image by Graydon Foulger, Impressionist Oil Painter.

Oh, these times of transition…

Fall is a beautiful time for change and transition. The weather cools with winds that whisper at a coming winter, the hint of a chilly air brushing across my shoulder tops and threading cool breezes against my skin. I huddle in my jacket, tugging it closer and shaking out my fingertips. I notice that the mornings are getting slower and the days are getting shorter. This weekend marked the official beginning of Autumn, closing down with a startling clamp on the last of summer.

The cooling season and drier air makes me long for hibernation; I stay in bed, pillow atop head, and say a muffled NO into the bedding, my aspirations for morning workouts disappearing alongside the droopy sun. I want to lie for longer, hide from the world, and treasure the warmth and depth of my hidden blankets. My mood shifts; I crave hearty foods and thick soups; I am slower to start in the morning and my mind dips more frequently into the melancholy of lower light. Every psychological trigger begins to fire a reminder for me–from the Halloween candy dotting the grocery aisles to the orange hues of colored leaves to the warm smell of turkey cranberry sandwiches with brie. I grasp the fleeting remainder of warm days with bike rides and lunches on the water before it cools too much to enjoy.

Yesterday was the Fall equinox, a time marking the transition of seasons and temperatures into a new time. For those on the northern hemisphere, we’re closing our long summer days filled with light and energy, and rolling into a season of darker days, hibernation, a few extra hours of slumber, and a craving for rich, starchy foods, harvest vegetables, salts, and soups. For those on the southern hemisphere, blinking in the spring light after a long winter, you’re also awakening to change and transition, one of a different sort.

The equinox is a time to revisit your intentions, to shift, and to re-align yourself for the coming winter. A friend wrote beautifully about what the equinox brings to our life:

The equinox is a time to revisit your intentions as well as to be in gratitude for your harvest–whatever it may be. Acknowledge all that you have at this time and focus on the abundance of the harvest rather than any lack. The equinox is also a time to think about cleaning, pruning, and making any changes that you are inspired to make as a way to make more space for what you want. It is a time for expansion, freedom and commitment. Take some time to ritualize change. Honor the change of season and use the energy of the fall equinox support the release of any burden you may have been carrying for someone else. Put it down once and for all.” (M.M. via The Power Path)

It made me thankful for the energy, change, and growth processes I’ve put into place this year. Leaving my job, moving across the country, selling my car, and setting up my own client roster–these were not simple projects. In retrospect, I bow in gratitude to the year’s work, and I’m thankful for the times I took risks.

What have you harvested this year? What can you acknowledge that has gone well, or shifted significantly? What are you growing? Are you still setting foundations in place for great harvests next year, and next spring?

What can you let go of, or refocus your energy on? What rituals can you take towards change?

More than just writing… a workshop and a journey.

This Fall, 20 students joined me in the Writer’s Workshop, a 4-week course designed to discover your writer’s voice, teach essential writing skills, unlock your inner creative, and grow as a writer within a small-group community. Their inspiration and enthusiasm has been breathtaking.

Each person came to the course with a mind and heart open towards learning, towards improving, and wanting to grow in an area that’s critical for success: communication. Writing allows us to clarify who we are, what we want, and share our ideas. Beyond writing, however, the four-week course is a journey into creativity, into storytelling, into memories and dreams, and into mind-mapping.

It’s a commitment to yourself that you want to get better. It’s a ritual of change. It’s a recognition and a dedication towards growth.

Learning is one of my favorite things. It’s an incredible gift to pour new knowledge and ideas into your brain, synthesize them, mull over them, contemplate, and then create your own works. The best bloggers and creatives I know are all incredibly smart and phenomenally hardworking–likely far more than what is publicly visible, in fact–and they take the time an energy to invest in themselves, to create day in and day out, and to hustle when they need to.

For writers in our writing workshop, here’s what a few of them had to say about why they joined the journey:

“I love to write but have challenges finding the time and space with a demanding full-time (non-writer) job. I’m hoping this class provides both inspiration and structure to help me build writing into my daily life going forward.”

“I thought that getting back into writing regularly might help me find a voice that hasn’t been as vocal lately.”

“I want to hone my most crisp and compelling writing voice and develop a regular writing practice.”

“I’ve always wanted to engage in personal/creative writing but never did much of it. I’m looking forward to using the experience from this course as a catalyst to begin a daily practice of writing, mostly for myself.”

“I have a blog on my website, but I haven’t been too consistent with it. The goal for me is to be more consistent, disciplined, and always have a plethora of new ideas to write about.”

As someone who is hungry for knowledge, I love diving into new projects, courses, and ideas. It’s a joy to teach people who feel the same way. These talented professionals from around the world are brilliant peers and colleagues–and yet they are taking the time to join the workshop, often alongside day jobs, families, side hustles, and other endeavors–each of them coming together to invest in their dreams and take the steps towards improving their lives and businesses.

You don’t have to have it “figure it out” to partake on the journey.

Why do people join in new adventures? Sign up for new classes? What do they want to improve?

I find the most common denominator of people who make change successfully in their lives is that they start before they feel ready–they dive in before it seems right. And it’s true in my own life: I long delayed signing up for Yoga Teacher Training because I thought I had to be better before I could start (some idea in my mind told me that I needed to be “a great yogi” before I could indulge in deeper learning). And then I realized that I was putting up the same barrier: I didn’t need to wait for the perfect time to improve myself and learn something new. So I signed up to take my first deeper dive into Yoga Teacher Training. You don’t have to wait to get better. You can begin your journey exactly where you are.

It’s been an incredible year of change for me, and the year isn’t over yet. As I transition from traditional employment to building my own practice and business, developing my own patterns, and investing in my own journey, I have quite a bit to discover as I grow.

Getting better starts now.

What are you letting go of this Fall? What are you starting? How are you editing your journey and building your life?

With strength during all times of transition,

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Jumping is terrifying. Or, behind the scenes of the last few months: Life. Mind Work. Change. Here. Now. Hello. Breathe…

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I wake up in a panic, nerves sending a fear signal up and down my trembling arms. Adrenaline pours into my veins, shooting up my skin like a shock to my system. My brain races, full of questions and doubts and fears. I can’t sleep again, even though it’s dark. The light from the streetlamp outside my window glares at me, accusingly. I get up, I start pacing.

I wonder if what I’ve done is the right thing. If what I’m doing is the right thing. I feel like I’m jumping out of an airplane, a rug pulled out beneath my feet to reveal that I’m far too high up in the sky and gravity’s tugging on me. I don’t know if I have a parachute. I’m not sure what a parachute would even look like. I’ll need to figure it out later, but probably fairly soon.

Sometimes I’m soaring with the incredible high of experimentation, and other times my mind wonders if it knows just exactly what I’ve gotten myself into. I cling to my practices of yoga, journaling and other meditative daily walks, but they don’t fully temper the fact that I don’t know what I’m doing. My mind is a scramble. I can’t understand the illogical things I’ve put it through. It’s probably for the best that I don’t understand.

Trust.

There’s no easy way to jump other than to put both feet out and trust the world around you. Trust that you’ll land, that you might fly, that it’s okay to fall, or that some other iteration you can’t predict will come to fruition. Unlike the time I went zip-lining with my sister, where my jump off the platform was so timid that I smacked my butt against the wooden platform below as I launched, I need to lean, and lean so hard that it feels like falling.

I’m falling. This is falling.

While it’s been quiet around these parts lately, that’s just an illusion–a set of unwritten essays and the silence that is days passing a surface skin for a mind and a life that’s been in flux for much of this summer and this year. I look back at my writings for August, noticing that I’ve only scrawled two posts this month; those posts are just a scant glimpse into life behind the scenes and what I’ve been up to. For those familiar with astrology, the world’s been ablaze with the recent Grand Trine, the idea of a shift so large and a planetary arrangement so powerful that people will feel huge changes, up-endings, and fluxes in their life; that dreams become reality; that things get messy; that things resolve — and I don’t just read this, I feel this, I know this, I am living this.

Hello, world. Shall we dance?

Sometimes I struggle with what to write about on this blog—is it a diary? Is it a travel trope of my own adventures? Is it strictly related to writing and communications? It’s not always clear; I share my personal stories and lessons as a window into how I’ve practiced (and continue to practice) the philosophies and principals that underline most of my work, scratching out and re-writing as I go, editing as I learn. I don’t profess to write about myself because that’s the topic at hand; I do love telling the stories I live as a means for sharing bigger ideas and stories. But when I leave myself out of all of the writing and start to write just about rules or teachings or hollow lists, it starts to feel a bit empty.

Like I’ve forgotten to tell you something. Like I’ve left part of myself out.

The past six months have been a whirlwind, to the point that it feels as though I’ve been hiding something. The past year has been a challenge, and I’m not always comfortable talking about all of it. Some of the hands-down-best-things in my life have happened in recent months, but so have some of the scariest and hardest. It wasn’t shiny and glorious; much of it came in a package that felt like I was being thrown repeatedly against a wall like a rag doll and left in a crumpled heap to stand up and fight a bit more. The great moments came with adrenal fatigue, medical problems, extensive biopsies and visits to the doctor. Moments at conferences after months at home, working all day and late nights, and having to look at someone else and not quite share. Not quite tell. These months and moments have been filled with Doubt. Insecurity. Changes. Lives beginning. Lives ending. Leaving my job, starting a new one. Selling my car (finally). Meeting incredible people. Shifting careers, changing tack.

You, too, are probably noticing something in your own life and in the lives of others around you. As I talk with friends and clients and colleagues, I notice that these big shifts aren’t happening in isolation. We’re all experiencing it, the universe seemingly sending the earth into the spin cycle a few extra times, the players and movers jolted into new realities of their own doing–or as a surprise. The economy has been moving and un-sticking; opportunities are opening while entire industry verticals are left career wastelands; some generations are in huge loss while other people are starting to move around much more in jobs and vocations and practices.

I hear stories of daring and adventure, of incredible romance, of deep pain and loss, of glimmers of beauty within the deepest tragedies. Sometimes the suddenness with which you realize a dream can be incredibly unnerving, pressing you forward into a new sense of self, a new definition, a new story before you felt like you committed to the wanting of your dream. And yet the universe sends you out the door and through three new ones, pressing you to discover your readiness through action, not thinking. And other times it seems unfairly agonizing to wait, years of debt and doubt and pain layered into the pursuit of freedom, a tantalizing notion that seems just out of grasp. Change is rattling. Waiting is painful. I’ve watched people get all that they’ve said they wanted, and fall apart. I’ve watched people try for everything they’ve dreamed of and crumble, stall, wander into places they’d never wish to be. They’re surviving. The universe is doing something.

Change is not easy.

… I’m not sure there are many people who say that it is.

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Welcome to solo-preneurship*, to adventure, to freedom, to creation.

In my world, a big shift happened a few weeks ago. At the end of July, I parted ways with my wonderful and dear company, SWA Group, the place that has been my home for the last five years. Along the way, we created a number of digital and print communications initiatives — sharing the perspective of landscape architecture and describing how the built world works through books, magazines, blogs, and stories. My colleagues are some of the most talented physical and spatial designers I’ve ever met, and they challenged me constantly to learn how to create physical, built spaces within the tricky world of patterns, codes, rules and regulations–learning how to engineer and design places for human enjoyment. Understanding urban patterns and landscape systems is immensely appealing to me, and something I’ve focused on for a long time.

And yet, I leapt.

It’s exciting–and terrifying.

Transitioning from a wonderful job and a space with colleagues who have been extremely supportive of my adventures and experiments was not an easy choice, and it took several weeks and months to iron out the details and to wrap up my final projects and head out. Out into the world of clients and projects and writing and self-employment. Also the asterisk in the title is a note of caution–I’m not headed straight into “solo-preneurship,” because it’s never truly “solo”-preneurship, like Tara Gentile so aptly reminds us. “Business doesn’t happen in a bubble,” she writes; rather, it happens with teams and clients and support and evolution. And markets. And needs. Further, solo-preneurship is not about late nights hustling indefinitely; while hustling is a part of the journey, it doesn’t need to become the entire journey.

And then, I was here.

Shoved out the door and onto the sidewalk, suitcase in hand. I’m taking all the knowledge and chops I’ve got and doing the best I can.

Starting yesterday.

When did this happen? 

“To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest.”– Pema Chödrön

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But Sarah, what are you working on? How will you spend your time?

I’ve been avoiding conversations that pull up that dreaded question, that accusatory, “so, what are you doing?” statement, the question that permeates what seems to be nearly every conversation. The rush to fill time—or worse, to apply a story or a definition to how we will spend time—is a national disease we all have, one that requires us to chase productivity and results over holistic being and space for mental clarity. It’s no wonder Time Magazine features a different cover for Americans than the rest of the world when we’re a market more obsessed with our own job performance (and resultant anxiety) than the civil unrest happening in the Middle East. Prayers to Egypt, Syria, Palestine, Israel, and all of the countries in need of deep healing. Including our own.

“The rush to fill time—or worse, to apply a story or a definition to how we will spend time—is a national disease we all have, one that requires us to chase productivity and results over holistic being and space for mental clarity.”

We ask each other what we do before we ask how we’re doing, a quick question that rolls off the tongue faster than you can truly hug someone and look into their eyes, wondering how they actually are. When you’re in transition (and transition is not a temporary state but perhaps an always-state, as Pema Chödrön has gently reminded me in her book, When Things Fall Apart), it’s much harder to answer that question definitively. I have an answer that sounds good, I have an answer that’s short and sweet, I have the answer that helps my parents worry less about my finances (So… how are you supporting yourself?), and I have a few ways to broach the conversation with friends.

The short answer is that I’m writing. And teaching. And learning. And living. The shift, if you put a definition on it, is that I’m no longer working full time with a single employer; I’m working in freelance mode with several clients and project across the country and around the world. Part journalist, part documentarian, part strategist and mostly writer, I’m building a new set of tools and skills and building a new business plan for myself. It’s liberating. It’s thrilling. It brings up every uncertainty I’ve ever had and puts them flat on the kitchen table and stares me square in the face.

It’s full-on accountability.

“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.” – Jack Kerouac

One of my first projects was a press campaign for a Y-Combinator company in San Francisco dedicated to helping aging seniors live gracefully. I joined Y-Combinator team True Link Financial, a tech start-up tackling the challenge of fraud target aging seniors. Seniors are increasingly vulnerable to misleading marketing and scams; the company’s cofounders Kai Stinchcombe and Claire McDonnell developed a new credit card with a customizable fraud-blocker that helps prevent your parents’ and grandparents’ money from being irreversibly stolen in the time in their life when they need it most.

Aging is an issue that’s fascinated me throughout my studies of cities and people, and with my grandparents aging and later leaving us, I wonder who will take care of them if we all don’t step in and take care of them. A society with no age diversity should alarm you: we need older people to be thriving within our ecosystems, visibly, or we should be concerned for our own future health. It won’t be long until we’re all old (hopefully–that’s the goal, right?). I wonder who will take care of me when I’m 70, 80, or 90.

“The way you do anything is the way you do everything.”

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My second assignment as an independent journalist this summer was joining 1for3.org as a documentarian and writer on a recent trip to Aida Camp, a Palestinian Refugee Camp in Bethlehem. I joined an exceptionally talented team of designers and human rights activists dedicated to making change in a part of the world that needs a lot of love. We traveled to Israel over the summer and spent time in several of the world’s oldest cities, and then focused on the problem of inadequate water access within a camp that serves 6,000 residents. A design and landscape-based challenge, the team built a variety of options to capture stormwater and rainwater, cleanse it, and re-distribute it as potable or recycled water for irrigation and play. While the history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is long and complex (see this history of the conflict in maps), the challenge of capturing rainwater on a single site is something that can be implemented in real time. As a documentarian, I wrote 2,500 to 3,000 words per day, and we’re working on pieces for publication this Fall. Nothing in this paragraph suffices to capture what the trip was–I’m struggling for words. It was. I will write more.

And lastly, this Fall I’ll also be teaching again in the Writer’s Workshop, a private group for people who want to build a practice and a community around writing. Writing unlocks our minds and helps us clarify who we are, how we think, and how we connect with others. Last Spring, I opened up the first writing workshop to a group of twenty-five people from around the world and was blown away by the talent, enthusiasm, and dedication of each of the people in the class. I’ve updated and modified the program to make it into a four-week program that focuses on storytelling, imagination, creativity and persuasion–helping writers and aspiring writers of all fields learn how to add more detail, color, and story to their blog posts, essays, and other daily communications.

Writing well is critical to great living. It’s one of my core beliefs, as I dig into understanding the whys behind what I do: writing helps us clarify who we are, what we believe, and serves as an introspective tool for a journey into your own mind. Good writing also helps us get better at explaining ourselves, our ideas, our projects, our thought processes, and our deepest wants and desires. If you want to get better at any job, relationship, or project–get better at writing. Improving your writing makes nearly everything better. If you’ve been to one of my courses or live events before, come join us. ‘ll be sharing more information on the writing class over the next few weeks, and posting details here: http://dev.sarahkpeck.com/writers-workshop/.

SF-reflections Bay Bridge at night

And in addition to leaving my Day job, I’ve left San Francisco for a while. 

The distance a country puts between your old life and a new, unprepared, different life–a life now navigated within the corridors of unfamiliar yet strangely reassuring streets–makes me see my old self with more contrast, more clarity. Distance gives perspective. Change shows your edges. Challenges reveal where we have more work to do.

I left San Francisco, heading to Brooklyn, New York for the Fall to build my own writing, teaching, and consulting practice. My client roster was overwhelming my ability to stay sane and get sleep while working full time, and so–I jumped. I leaned, and I leaned hard, arms spinning, free-falling in the the glorious disruption that is change. After long conversations with close friends, my own coaches, and my mentors both at my company and in my life, I wrapped up my time with my employer and I’m in a bit of a free space right now. It’s wonderful, it’s open, it’s strange, it’s new–and it’s now. It’s here. I’m in it.

It’s less of a jolt and disruption, in some ways, because I believe that the old employer–employee relationship is antiquated, and the job that’s perfect for you three years ago is not the same job (and nor are you the same person) today. Everything shifts and is in flux, and the jobs (employers, clients, projects) that stick around longest are ones that match you and your evolving human talents and needs the best. This shift, then, at least for me, is one towards more project-based work; a move that I believe is more in alignment with how corporate and employment relationships should work.

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But the truth is, I’m avoiding the heart matter, the real reason I’m changing tracks, the deeper stories woven into this framework of self-employment and time management. It’s easier to talk about jobs and locations and moving, because those are things I can point to. These are the things that feel safer to talk about, for some reason. Yet one of the beautiful, albeit less publicly prominent, stories in my life has has been simply and glossily covered over with the use of words like “life opportunities,” and “strategic choices” and “changes,” and “new directions.” These words mask the beauty of a burgeoning and deepening and marvelous love story I can’t even fully grasp that I’m a part of (me? this is me? how is this happening!?) — and my heart is cracking open with this new adventure. My partner. In life. I can’t wait to write about it, too, whenever the time is right.

In short, I’m stunned by how much my life has changed over the last few years. I bow in deep prayer to the universe and to spirits and to energy flows with thanks and gratitude for the gifts in my life.

We can’t wait until later to work on developing beautiful relationships, to starting new adventures, to leaning, to jumping. It’s always time to practice and to push. It’s an adventure, and you’ve only got a few opportunities to live it.

Breathe. 

But let’s dig a little deeper. Even beneath the shift in my relationships and the work that I’m doing is even deeper heart work. Life work. Body work. The thing is, I’m doing some mind work. I’ve been running at full steam for nearly a decade, and in a grasp towards more consciousness and deliberate creation, I’ve slowed down the project roll and I’m consciously practicing choices that make space in my life for essential philosophies and practices I want to devote more time to. I’m continuing to practice saying no to opportunities that don’t quite fit right; no to clients that aren’t a fabulous fit; and no to things that make me tired, cranky, and uncomfortable–like sitting still all day.

And as this moves forward, I’m creating space–ample space–for projects I’ve long put on the back burner.

My critics–largely internal–tell me this is silly, self indulgent, a waste of time. They sit on my shoulders and grumble, moaning about the work I’d better be doing, about the nonsensical things my brain tries to write, cackling in the backdrop. Occasionally I meet a real critic–someone who voices what I’ve been spinning up in my head–and the conversation usually ends with a decent explanation of why I’m doing what I’m doing, surprising even myself.

It can be easy.

It can be now.

My new apartment has a blank wall on it, in a room we’ve devoted to art and creation and the expansive, contemplative work my partner and I are devoted too, and even though we’re not moving in for another week or so, I’ve already scribbled across multiple sheets of paper with ideas, brainstorms, and plans. I’m pinning them up in the invisible wall in my mind. The marked shift is not one of dreaming that I put movement and writing first in my life, but a life in which I actually do it, and continue to align my life according to my values and principles.

Mind work, body work, spirit work.

We are more than the work we create and the products we produce. We are more than the money we earn and the statuses we post. We are humans, to the core, with moving, living, breathing bodies. We are connected, in communities and networks and relationships, and all of the pieces and parts need to be nurtured and allowed; cultivated and fed.

The next few months–nay, longer, please–are about mind work; about spirit work; about body work. We create a career and chase financial gains for consumer-based tendencies; in an effort to challenge these assumptions, the next few months of my life are deliberately about experimentation. I want to push myself (or yield, or soften) into experiments with mind and body. With doing more movement, and less computer work. With changing routines to learn what suits me best. With spirituality first and mental work first. With practices that develop the mind, body and soul. I’ve opened up space in this new life, this new day, for more writing and more movement. More teaching and more learning. More being.

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This means its messy, it’s different. There are a lot of late nights (or early nights) with tears. I’m not good at this; I’m not good at being composed and balanced at all times. I don’t expect myself to be, either. I get really stressed out and I want to throw things against walls and I make hyperactive sets of lists and then I feel like a complete failure when I’ve only done one or two things on my list. I put the list down. I listen to waves of anxiety roll across my body, and I practice trying to observe it—not critique it. I spend months in places that don’t feel right and only when it really really doesn’t feel good to I finally leave; and I learn that next time, I’ll listen to my intuition a little more closely. I shift, I dance, I fall.

Finding calm in the midst of chaos is not easy. Today is a day just like any other, and there is no arrival. Pema Chödrön’s “When Things Fall Apart,” has been a close reminder that the idea of chasing a completeness or an arrival–that feeling of having arrived is a false premise. We are not arriving, we are always arriving. We are always moving. Life is more often a state of chaos than calm; the fleeting satisfaction of completion erodes, too, as time passes and we seek more challenges, learning, opportunities.

The entire process—this ongoing, transitory adventure, this journey—provides fodder for stories and writing and ongoing exploration and journey. The more I grow and learn, the less I feel as though I have any answers at all. I document to track my brain’s inner workings, to train my mind, to place markers in the ground, to discover myself. I write because it’s such a gift to my soul and a beautiful way to connect with others. I teach writing because I hope to share the journey and discovery with like-minded individuals; I learn as much from the talented people I work with as I hope to share.

Thank you for joining me on this journey, and for listening. I’ve created beautiful friendships from this blog and I am grateful to be able to share with each of you.

To living life, to mind work, to creating space.

XOXO

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Tell me what you’ve been working on: I’d love to hear about it in the comments. How has your life shifted and changed over the past year? What’s become clear to you, and what are you working to prioritize? How do you deal with change and transition? 

Bravery

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Bravery.

Bravery is showing up.

Bravery is saying what you believe in. Out loud. To the people who need to hear it. Even if that person is you. 

It’s having honest communication with your self, your teams, your communities.

Bravery is saying no when you know you need to. It’s saying no to the wrong things so that you can say yes to the right things.

Bravery is having the courage to quit when you know you’re on the wrong track, even if hundreds of thousands of people are headed in one direction. It’s knowing when the path you are on isn’t the one for you. It’s taking that scary leap, swimming upstream, or wandering down unfamiliar trails.

Bravery isn’t fun, macho, or full of gusto. It’s not always done in one big sweep.

Bravery is all the heroes in Boston, visible and invisible, local and global. 

Bravery is having the courage to stand out on social media and remind people to collect the dots, not connect them too early.

Bravery is saying something different and showing empathy for our peers around the world. It’s not jumping to conclusions too quickly. It’s remembering what we stand for and believing in the best of us.

Sometimes bravery is remarkable, unfathomable courage by the youngest and oldest of human souls who rush forward to help everyone and put their lives on the line to save others. The runners in Boston who kept running to the hospital to donate blood were Remarkable. Beautiful. Stunning. Incredible.

Other times bravery is calm, methodical. Sometimes it looks quite peaceful. Sometimes it’s shaking off the noise and clamor and distraction and realizing with simple focus that your next steps require you to take those steps and walking forward is the best and happiest way forward.

Bravery might not be visible to anyone else at the time that you’re being brave. Bravery might be broadcast on national television (but that’s not the point).

It’s showing up, little by little. 

It’s putting yourself out there, even if “out there” is pushing past your own mental barriers.

It’s deciding that now is a better time than later.

Bravery is bravery, even if it doesn’t look that remarkable to anyone else. You are still brave.

It’s continuing to press on, even when your stomach drops in fear, your hands shake in nerves, and you collect sweat in your armpits faster than fog droplets in a San Francisco “summer” day. It’s taking a step forward in the midst of whirlwind gusts of wind and shouting into the windstorm, I’ve got this, dammit! I’m still going to do it! I have to! 

My soul tells me I have to do this, and I have to listen.

Start small. (It’s okay to start with a bang, too, but small is still very brave).

Watch for the mental overwhelm, and give yourself kindness and space to freak the heck out (although maybe not publicly just yet).

Be very kind to yourself.

And also, remember,

in your quest for bravery:

In order to do something new, you often have to let go of something old.

The trouble with starting something is that it requires a different behavior than what you did before.

We are creatures of habit, yes, but we are also creatures of continuous change.

Spring is the perfect time for creative bursting, for unfolding, for the skin-shedding, cocoon-bursting metamorphosis that transforms you towards your next self.

The world is waiting for you to grow into the next version of you. 

Bravery doesn’t always feel like bravery.

It can feel like whirl-wind, mind-bending, all-changing upset, filled with unpredictable whims and whammies, stomach upset and nervous twitters, body aches, starts and stops, trial and error, and a whole lot of messy.

Sometimes bravery feels nauseating, overwhelming, scary, and downright hard.

It’s still brave.

 

A little insider’s story–my story:

When I opened the doors and launched my writing class last week, I was terrified. This was my brain:

What if I wasn’t ready? What if no one showed up? What if nothing worked? What if this dream of mine, that I’ve been working and crafting and creating for so many months past, resulting in a big giant internet wall of silence? 

Intellectually, I know that I can do this. I’ve been ready to do this for years. I’ve taught workshop after workshop and coached folks for years. I have a chart on my wall of the things I’m leaning towards this year, and the one big thing not lined up for the longest time was creating a course for writers. I can’t confess to understanding all of the reasons that I’ve avoided doing it, but I can speculate.

It means so much to me.

I knew deep down that I would do it even if only one person showed up. I would do it even if no one paid me the first time, and I would keep honing my chops and my offerings until I found the right fit.

That still doesn’t mean I’m not incredibly terrified. I get scared! Scared SHITLESS. My brain, many weeks ago:

What if no one shows up? What if I’m a terrible teacher? What if I can’t get it all done? What if it doesn’t work? WHAT IF NOT ONE PERSON SHOWS UP? What it I can’t do it on top of the work I’m already doing? What if this isn’t what I’m meant to do? WHAT IF, WHAT IF, WHAT IF EVERYTHING???

WHAT IF IT’S ALL JUST WRONG?

So scream the fear-monster voices in my head.

Yes. They are there. I have them. 

When you get close to your dreams, fear can rage like a giant monster. Every thing that could go wrong seems to loom large. The website broke. I stayed up all night, nervous about prepping the materials. Funky characters showed up across my website. More things went wrong. Before launching the program, I waited for months. I studied stacks and stacks of books, compressing more knowledge into the course documents in order to make it even better. I stalled. And then stalled some more. I thought about not doing it at all. I almost said to myself, “Nah, one wants this. It’s not worth trying.” 

And then someone thanked me. People went out of their way to reach out and tell me how excited they were. 

Several more people signed up. The class started filling up before I had all my ducks lined up and my posts ready to go. (I have so much more promotion I’m planning on!)

In the form: “Yes. I’ve been waiting for this. This is exactly the class I want.” and “I’m so excited I cannot WAIT until the 29th!”

Holy shit. I’m so excited. And thankful. This is going to be good.

Today, with the class more than half full already, I could laugh away those fears and pretend with a big shiny smile that everything is all and well, but it’s not the truth. I’m scared, too. The fear monsters hit everyone. I don’t know all the answers. But I do love writing!

I’ve learned, slowly, over and over again, that the scariest part of doing anything is not doing it and wallowing in thought. 

And wrapping your thoughts around all those fears? That’s a scary space.

Be brave. Get started.

The best way to do anything is to do it. If you’re afraid of starting, make it smaller and simpler. Want to have a conversation with your boss about something you’re frustrated about? Don’t write a big report or delay on it. Write a quick, simple email that says: “I’ve got a couple of items I’d really like to talk to you about–including a couple of frustrations I’d like to work through. When’s the best time to chat, and is there a format that’s easiest for you?” Do it as soon as you know that you have to have this conversation. Stop by and say what you think. Look for solutions.

And be brave. I know it’s terrifying, I know it’s not easy, and I go through it all the time.

Be brave.

With big love this week,

sarah signature

 

Radio Interview: Musings on Design, Environment, Behavior and Sustainability

How do you build a sustainable life, what does psychology have to do with cities, and how do you wield the power of learning how to say both yes and no strategically? Did you design your own job? How do you balance a full-time job with all the side projects you want to do? What happens when you’re frustrated because your employer doesn’t understand that you want to do more than what you’re already doing? What is environmental determinism? What is the relationship between environment, design, and behavior? Is the world around us really just a game?

And for goodness sake, what does it feel like to swim Alcatraz naked?

Last night I was fortunate to be guest #66 on Radio Enso hosted by Greg Berg. It turns out radio interviews are really fun! As a Prairie Home Companion and NPR enthusiast, I am quite fond of the audio-only medium. (Plus, Greg was an incredible host–impeccably well-prepared and GREAT questions.)

Listen here: Radio Enso #66 with Sarah Kathleen Peck.

If you have more time, also check out the quick video round-up by Todd Schnick on how to kick ass in 2013. I have a one-minute spot in it where I talk about my favorite two tips for how to get things done (hint: get started, and do less than you think).

What questions do you have?

Enjoy, sarah signature