Tag: work

Get Better at Scheduling Your Time, Get Better at Email (New Classes)

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Do you ever get overwhelmed by scheduling your day, week, or month? Does email bog you down or frustrate you?

I’m teaching two new virtual seminars this November all about rethinking the way you schedule your week (November 9th) and becoming a jedi master with your email inbox (November 17th).

The seminars are 1-hour long, live, and will be recorded.

Registration is $49 per class.

Live Session 1:
Rethinking & Reinventing Your Schedule

Wed, November 9, 2016 1:00 PM Eastern
A 1-hour class plus live Q/A

About the session:

How do you think about the time in your week? How do you plan ahead, carve out time and space, and make certain activities a priority? In this one-hour webinar, I’ll walk you through a session of scheduling, planning, and re-thinking about how you organize your time. I’ll also share with you 8 key tips I use in planning my own time. If you want to rethink your week, your organization of time, and how you schedule and plan, join me. Register Now: Rethinking Your Schedule.

Live Session 2:
13 Ways to Become A Gmail Jedi Master

Thu, Nov 17, 2016 1:00 PM Eastern
A 1-hour class plus live Q/A

About the session:

Does email overwhelm your life, and you don’t know what to do about it? No one wants to be the best at emailing. We’ve got better things to do. Stop being overwhelmed by email. Start winning over your email inbox by learning these key insights and tricks that I’ve collected over the years to make email mastery work for you. And then, get back to building better things with your day and time. Register Now: Become an Email Master

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.

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. 

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. 

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

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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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/.

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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? 

Less is more, imperfect is perfect, and done is done: 17 tips, tricks & habits I use for writing, creation + business-building (or any creative pursuit).

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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What’s better than perfect? Done is better than perfect.

Part of the beauty of writing, asking, and making projects is actually doing them. The best way out of something is often through it. Getting it done is where the art is. Seth Godin says “ship.” I say “do.” It means the same thing. Make it happen. Get it done.

It doesn’t matter whether or not you create the perfect product, the perfect essay, or the best story in the world; what matters is whether or not you have the nerve to ask and to create.

Sometimes you need to execute more and think less.

Rather than listen to all the voices that say you can’t do it, or why you’ll fail, take a step out and get started. Moving through something (physically, through action) is the best anecdote to stress, fear, and worry. At least this is what I’ve learned so far.

“What’s better than perfect? Done is better than perfect.”  (Tweet this)

Last Friday we wrapped the third week of my private Writer’s Workshop, a small group of writers that signed up on a 3-week journey and exploration in creative writing, narrative formation, storytelling, and persuasion. The class, a 15-module intensive, took us through a whirlwind a writing exercises and outlines frameworks and ideas around storytelling, understanding who you are, and the art (and difficulty) of creating a writing practice. (Side note: I’m so proud of them!!)

Often, as I work with clients and writers and with myself, I find a common middle section of any creative project or endeavor that’s fuzzy, mucky, uncomfortable, and scary. When we start any new practice–any art, any craft, anything that takes time and dedication and involves a bundle of newness–it’s terrifying. It’s that moment when the demons and creatures and critters tumble out of your neatly stacked closets, giggle and jump on your bed, and start a dance party that rattles you enough to make you think that starting was a bad idea.

But all those thoughts, all those jumbles, all that cranky and temperamental and strange stuff that pours out just when you were getting started–that is the good stuff.  That’s what you’re made of. That’s where the weird, wonderful, and zany comes from. It’s right at the beginning and when we get started that e need to set down the judgments and trade them for observations, noting only that we have this smattering of extremely strange and uncomfortable critters setting up a band show across our normally-made bed (Hah! You really think I make my bed? Right. Onwards).

One of my favorite lessons from the three-week class is my lesson on my personal writing and creation mantras: a bundle of tips, tricks, and habits that I keep posted up on my walls and in various locations as reminders and mantras towards my better self.

When I feel like crawling under the bed into the safety of the darkness and I think that the critters inside my mind will break everything in my house just by being them, I look at one of these mantras, breathe in a little bit, and remind myself to keep going.

I can survive a little hair-pulling. I can survive crayons all over the floor. I can survive the messiness. I can survive a massive dance party instigated by imaginary creatures in my mind. I can survive the Wild Things. I CAN SURVIVE THE MESSINESS! Because truly, the messiness is me. And in the exercise, I ask each person to create a list of mantras of their own (or to adopt whichever ones seem to fit from below).

What are your writing mantras? What are your creation mantras? How do you create your best self, and your best work? Here’s my list, to start you off.

17 Tips, Tricks & Habits I Use for Writing, Creation, Building and Motivation (Or Any Other Creative Pursuit).

In whatever your journey, the journey is about you.

Each person has a different dream, and your dream is the one that’s important in this journey (not anyone else’s). Your dream may be to write a book, to author a hundred books, or maybe to write a single essay. Perhaps your calling is to learn how to craft love letters to the important person in your life, or the important person who will be in your life after you write the story of how they get there. Writing might be a tool in your arsenal of visioning and dreaming, or it might be a process of self-discovery. Just like Gretchen Rubin writes “Be Gretchen,” so do I have sticky note on my wall that says: “Be Sarah.” Be you. Only you can be you.

In turn, the more I am me, the more me I become. Writing has been immensely useful in developing my relationship with myself, and seeing who I am and how I’ve grown. The better facility I gain with words, the better I get at processing, feeling, and learning from emotions.

The only system you need is the one that works.

I set up two key writing days for myself, with two optional mornings to write. I make these days priorities where writing is key; on the other days, writing is optional but always a possibility if I make time for it. If I find myself not writing or publishing as much, it’s a key to me to adjust the system—maybe I need to dial back the emphasis on other parts of my life and find another morning or night to dedicate an hour or two to writing. (Tweet this!)

The only system you need is the system that works

Habits are important frameworks.

Every writer I know talks about the importance of ritual and habit—whether it’s a morning pattern or a daily habit. For me, I have a few loose frameworks that guide me towards my larger goals—I try to publish once weekly, at minimum, and I try to write at least three days per week. Some weeks I write every day (I love writing, and I’ve been in the habit for a few years so I’m long familiar with this); and other times I only write once a week or so. When I find myself writing less, there’s inevitably a day or a two that month that the ideas start to come pouring out because I haven’t given them time to breathe.

My weekly structure gives me two mornings and two evenings to focus on writing; while I can break these rules and patterns occasionally (there are always conference calls to China that pop up), I try to keep at least 2 or 3 of the times for myself so that I can write.

Within a given month, I try to make sure at least one weekend is “clean”—in that it doesn’t have travel, events, or anything else scheduled on at least one (if not both) of the days. Often I actually have to go in and preemptively schedule the day out for writing so I don’t muck it all up with too many appointments. I’ll set a date with myself at one of my favorite coffee shops and plan to go, write, and eat for 4-5 hours that day and focus on writing and writing alone.

It takes longer than you think.

Writing is about philosophy, about articulation and detailing ideas and getting clarity around a concept or an idea. The harder the concept or the more challenging the story, the longer it will take you to work through it. It can take me several hours just to piece together a single story framework. If I have less than an hour, I usually can’t get to a depth or a place that I want to get and I become quite frustrated. I try to block out at least an hour, if not two hours, for my morning and evening sessions. Lately I’ve found myself losing track of time – I’ll come home around 7:30 or 8 pm, start writing on a Friday evening, and I’ll look up and the clock will read 12 or 1 AM and I’ve got to put the pen (or computer) down and head to bed so I can make it through the day reasonably the next day.

Deadlines are critical.

I have weekly goals (I call them frameworks) and monthly goals that serve as a baseline for what I want to make in the world. Some months I can’t possibly achieve it, and that’s fine—I try to strike a balance between pushing myself and enjoying myself during the process. If I’m going absolutely nuts and feeling overwhelmed, scared, and exhausted, then that’s not any good. My goal isn’t to make myself miserable! But if I go for more than a month or two without maintaining my baseline and I don’t notice things changing, I step in and re-evaluate what I’m working on and see if there is something I can say no to so that I can make space for more of my writing.

“To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan, and not quite enough time.” – Leonard Bernstein  (Tweet this)

It’s okay to take breaks.

I took an entire quarter off from writing my blog last year by taking a week off of work and writing 8 posts and spacing them out over a couple of months–all so that I could take some much-needed time to rest and rejuvenate my soul. I tend to work on projects in “seasons,” and define goals within each season—and there’s often at least one rest season (read: Winter) during each year so that I can restore myself and think about what to build next. Sometimes during a Spring or Summer season, I’ll focus more on one aspect of a project (like launching a writer’s workshop, or swimming a bunch), and I’ll dial back on my other responsibilities and goals so I can make it happen.

Set parameters and end dates.

Always set end dates. Give yourself permission to finish something. As you think about the next phase of your writing practice, consider what your goals might be. I highly recommend starting with a small framework (of perhaps 3-4 essays) and building a series around one particular topic, and finishing it. It’s imperative to finish a project and have something to point to. Most people don’t need to start an indefinite blog to create work in the world.

I’ve created many small projects based on sub-topics (as an example, I wrote a 20-essay blog strictly on my experience of the environment in San Francisco with details of the fog, homeless, and urban lifestyle; I started the project knowing that I wanted to spend a summer ‘collecting observations’ about the city I loved, and that the project would wrap by the end of the summer). The writing was fun to do, I got to tell stories in a way that was different than I’d been doing before, and I now have a collection of essays that I can use as writing samples, that I can pull from in future stories, and that I could eventually turn into a bigger project if I felt the itch to do that. (As I’m always saying: get started and do something, and learn from it!)

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

If you’re feeling overwhelmed by an aspect of your project, get way smaller. Just do a tiny bit of it. We work in fragments of time that add up, slowly. Today is just a day. Carve an hour, do a small bit.

“If it’s too big to do, make it smaller.”  (Tweet this)

The BEST way to reduce stress is to do work on the project, not avoid it.

Want to feel better? Get started. That’s it. That’s my secret. Everything is part of a larger conversation. You’re just starting with a piece of it, and giving that nuance.

Read well. If you can’t read well, you can’t write well.

Get rid of the trash. Unsubscribe from blogs and news that aren’t helpful. Unfollow people that don’t fill your feed with good stuff. Fill your brain. Push it. Challenge it. The most important thing you can do to be a better writer is read. I recently listed a years’ worth of my favorite books, and I’m already embedded in at least half a dozen new novels, historical accounts, and business books this month alone. Immersing yourself in good quality writing is the best teacher. Seek out people who push you and challenge you and feel free to say no to the rest.

There is no good writing, there is only good re-writing.

When I work with new writers, I often tell them to expect the first page to be “full of shit, with a few gems hidden in there somewhere.” It takes time, patience, and a whole bunch of red-lines to work with words on a page. It also takes the courage to put words down on paper without initial judgment or concern. Just do it, and let yourself write. Don’t let your judgment of yourself preclude you from starting in the first place. Trust that it can continue to get better with editing, time, and practice.

The goal is not complex words and simple ideas, but simple words and complex ideas.

If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough. Writing does not need to be complicated, pretentious, confusing, or full of jargon. To me, writing is a process for building understanding for yourself, and others. For myself, I often copy notes, explore ideas, and re-work words on a page just to tango with an idea until it makes sense in my mind. If I can’t explain it to people, then I’m not well-versed enough in the concept. Writing is a tool for communication (externally) as well as understanding (internally). Often, much of my writing is just about my words, rants, ideas, and explorations–before any of it gets shared with anyone else.

Let your voice develop.

Every writer has a different personality and voice, and learning what yours is takes time and practice. I’m often influenced by my favorite writers—leaning more towards a New York Times persona when I spend a Sunday reading the opinion pages, and oscillating back towards a bossy voice when I spend too much time listening to lectures. In between all of this input, I need to carve out time to develop my own voice and persona; this is a craft that takes many iterations. Start practicing!

What you take out is just as important as what you leave in.

Getting to a clear, simple essay or point is not straightforward. Often, I have to write 5-6 pages just to get to a distillation of one great paragraph. It’s part of the process.

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Capture your ideas however you can.

I love keeping a notebook and jotting down my ideas. Inspiration can show up during your routine, and it can show up at any time. I keep a pocket recorder on my phone and I talk stories to myself while walking through the city or driving in a car (why is it that driving triggers so many new ideas!?). I keep the recordings as well as my digital notes and I send them to myself via email to a folder called “notes.” When I get back to my computer, if I don’t have any ideas that are pressing, I go back through and read my short notes and scratching from the recordings, notes, and my notebooks, and find something that catches my attention. Then I begin with that.

Take the time to build your space and your project.

The world needs to hear what you have to say. “The world” might just be your son, daughter, or significant other, but they still need to hear it. An audience of a handful of people is still an audience. (For more on this, read my thoughts on building your voice on the internet and why I think you should join in). It’s time. Say what needs to be said.

Know what you want and what you value.

This is an easy phrase to say and can take years of work. Learn what’s important to you. Get to know yourself. Write because it teaches you, not just because you have something to say. Write because it will make you a better person, and write because it helps us become more of ourselves.

Done is done.

Sign it. Seal it. Deliver it. A dream unfinished is not reality. It’s your job to create it. Make it happen. Done is done, nothing else.

“DONE is done. Nothing else.”  (Tweet this)

What about you? What creates your best self and your best work?

In the comments below, let me know: what are your writing mantras? What are your creation mantras? How do you create your best self, and your best work? 
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Are You Too In Love With A Dream to Make It Real?

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Where does your mind go when you daydream?

That big dream, that thing in your mind–the really big one. Yes, that one.

What’s your big, scary, hairy, crazy, totally unrealistic dream? The one you wish for fervently and find yourself thinking about on and off while wandering?

Have you thought about making it real? Making it actually, seriously, part of your life?

Taking a dream to reality is risky.

It requires the real risk of failure and discovering whether or not you’re capable of what you believe. Whether or not you can actually accomplish all of the steps towards making it real. Whether or not you’re willing to do the work and go through the (sometimes painful) process of getting it to real.

Attempting to make a dream come true is a reality check. The possibility if a different reality is painful. It is quite possible that along the way towards going after your dream, you find out that you won’t get there. It’s too late. The pieces didn’t work. You don’t make it.

Behind the course of taking a dream to life is a possibility of not getting there.

To protect ourselves, we cling to the dream. We stay behind, saying wistfully to ourselves and others the story of the dream, but we don’t chase the dream itself.

Our words start to sound familiar. We tell stories that sound like were going to so that or we could have done that…

To take steps towards your dream requires uncertainty courage, bravery. You might discover that your dream window has expired. You might discover that you’re no longer in love with the fantasy you created. You might discover that the person you were has changed.

Taking the journey will change you. Taking the journey is unpredictable, uncertain, and scary.

You will emerge a different person. Your solace is that the other side of this today is a new place, and we are creatures that require change to grow.

And what if it does work out? What if your wildest dreams actually could come true?

Would you have the courage to go free them?

Or are you enjoying the dream more?

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

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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