Faking The Pain (Part 2 of 4)

My friend lost two immediate family members last year.  Unexpectedly. 

She’s tired of faking the pain. 

She explained to me that she used to think life had its ups and downs.  High seasons and low seasons.  Good days and bad days. 

But she doesn’t think that anymore.

Instead, she sees life as two parallel train tracks:  Joy and Pain.

Sometimes, Pain is so strong and is running so fast that she can barely see Joy – it is miles and miles away.  Other times, Joy is charging full speed ahead and Pain trails behind.  She relishes these rare moments – when she is overwhelmed with Joy and goodness and it feels like Pain is defeated. 

But it doesn’t last. 

Most of the time, Joy and Pain run in tandem.  She can feel them both.  Side by side.  Which means that she experiences great Pain and immense Joy at the same time.   It actually works well.  She doesn’t have to fake it – or feel like a hypocrite – when someone asks her how she is doing at breakfast as she says, “Fine.”

And 30 minutes later she is a mess.

That’s how Joy and Pain are.  In fact, she even believes that they are supposed to run parallel.  That life works best and grace multiplies when Joy and Pain are in balance.  Pain allows us to experience Joy.  And Joy allows us to experience Pain.

This irony became clear to me last week when I celebrated my daughter’s 8th birthday.  I was in so much Pain that my insides were crying.  Like I could collapse at any moment.

But 10 young girls arrived on my doorstep for a sleepover.  And they brought me the sweetest Joy I have known in days.  Popcorn.  Movies.  Dancing.  Looking at stars.  Telling stories late into the evening.  Magical moments that brought me back to simpler days.

And the Pain in my stomach made the Joy even stronger.  Clearer.  Richer
.
***********

Have you ever experienced the great irony of these two friends:  Joy and Pain?

Marketing 101: Know Yourself. Be Yourself. Stop Whining.

How do you best market yourself as a writer (and a person)?

In one short post, I’m going to share my playbook.  I’m linking up with Rachelle Gardner and my fellow colleagues at WordServe Literary to give away some unsolicited marketing secrets.

Don’t read this post if you are looking for a shortcut to building a platform.  I don’t have one.  And please don’t read this if you’re looking for time-saving secrets on social media, online communities, or networking with other bloggers.  Sorry.  I don’t have easy answers.  While I engage in all of these strategies, I’d like to share a different perspective.

Know yourself.  Be yourself.  Stop whining.

1)  Know Yourself.

You want practical advice, not a soap box.  Right?  I get it.  So here’s how “knowing myself” has worked so far.

First, I know my limitations.  I have no time to waste.  I’m a too-busy lawyer with three small kids and a husband who already thinks I’m stretched 100 ways too many.  Does this stop me?  Of course not.  I just have to make choices. 

• I shoot for quality, not quantity.  I choose to connect with other writers and readers that are like-minded – people who inspire and sharpen me, regardless of what they can “do” for me.  And while I’m not making the biggest splash around, it’s been incredibility meaningful.  Meaning motivates me.
• I hang out on Twitter because it’s fun and efficient.  Of all the social media vehicles, I like Twitter the best.  It’s fast, fun, and incredibly efficient.  I’ve been on Twitter for less than a year, and it’s hands down driven more traffic to my blog than any other source. 
• I’ve joined one online community, and I’m committed.  About a year ago, I joined The High Calling as a contributing editor.  I guess you could say it’s part of my marketing plan, but that’s not why I do it.  I feel at home there.  It’s a place I’d hang out even if I bagged the whole writing scene.  
• I’m in it for the long haul.  There’s no quick fix.  I know that my personal platform is going to happen brick by brick.  I’m not looking for quick results, just measurable progress over time. 

2)  Be Yourself. 

Now, you may wonder what this has to do with marketing.  Stick with me, it’s a fair question.

When I was a young trial lawyer, an old pro pulled me aside (come to think of it, I think he smacked me over the head) and gave me some key advice.

“Always be yourself in front of the jury.  If you act fake, they can see right through it.”

Pretty good, huh?

I happen to think readers are a lot like jurors.  So in this world of marketing madness on steroids, I’ve decided to just be me.  I just can’t fake the whole networking thing.  If I went around leaving random comments on blogs that said, “Please follow me and I’ll follow you back” I think I would shoot myself.  (I don’t do auto messages either.)

The good news?  If I’m networking with you, it means I actually like you.  I'm not faking it.

Besides, being myself is the one thing I can do better than anybody else.  (You probably have that same gift.)

3)  Quit Whining.

Writers love to whine (present company especially included).  We have it so hard, don’t we?

Lisa doesn’t work outside her home.  Of course, she has all the time in the world to market and network.

Terry developed a platform because he has a big endorser.  It must be nice.  I don’t know anyone important.

Marketing isn’t what I signed up for.  I just want to write, ok? 

I’m an artist!  Marketing is beneath me.

Excuses, excuses.  Does this sound familiar?

Look, we all know that marketing doesn’t drive us to write.  Writing drives us to market.   You may think marketing is just a necessary evil (or just plain evil) but if you are passionate about getting your message out to other people, you’re going to have to sell yourself to an audience. 

So stop whining and get to work!

Yeah, the work involves things like blogging and networking – the things I already told you I haven’t mastered.  But if you set your mindset first – know yourself, be yourself, and quit whining – it might not be as tough as you think.

It’s actually tougher!

[If you care to continue the discussion on all things writing, please join me and my WordServe colleagues daily at the WordServe Water Cooler.  I'm thrilled to be part of this newly-launched community of talented writers.]

Faking The Pain (Part 1 of 4)

I break from a meeting and check my phone.  A text comes through like a knife, and I learn that my friend’s illness has gotten worse.  I want to stop. To cry. To pray. To even breathe.

But I can’t.  I have to be back in the meeting in five minutes.

So I fake the pain.  I’m good at this.

After all, I’m getting paid to be strong.  Lawyers aren’t weak, and they certainly don’t cry during meetings.  And it’s not like my pain makes me special.  It just makes me normal.

For 30 seconds – before I re-enter the meeting – I argue with God.  What kind of God allows pain to be normal?

Why God do you put us in this skin and allow this charade to continue?  Is this really want you want?  For your children to wear masks.  And is everyone around me faking it too?

One in four people will suffer from mental illness in the course of a year. 

Over 40% of people will be diagnosed with cancer during their lifetimes.

The unemployment rate is approaching double digits (and men are 45% more likely to lose their jobs than women).

Of course we’re not fine.  No one is exempt.  But just like me, everyone around me is good at faking it. 

I pull myself together and head back into the meeting.  I really feel like shouting, “It’s not Halloween anymore.  Everybody, please take off your masks.  Starting with me!”

But I don’t shout.  And I don’t take off my mask.  I fake it just enough to make it through the day. 

Later, after work, I sit down at my laptop.  I look at my blog.  For 18 months I’ve written about kids, family, work, holidays, cooking, and even dancing.  I’ve written about everything but pain.  If you don’t know me – really know me -- you may think I lead a life of joy and bliss.  You have to read between the lines to find the pain.  But it’s there.

I hate pain.  I hate watching others in pain. 

But I’m tired of being afraid of pain.   So I’m going start writing about it – for the next three Mondays.   I’m going to finish that conversation with God and ask you to join me. 

Do you find yourself pretending like you’re fine on the outside when inside your are a mess?

Will We Be 18 In Heaven?

I’m getting ready for my 18-year-old niece’s graduation party.  I pull a skirt and blouse out of my suitcase.  In Ohio, I’d be trendy.  I’d even be a bit edgy on casual day at the office.

But I’m not in Ohio.  I’m in Vegas. 

Midwest hip has long been out in Vegas.  So I run to my niece and cry, “HELP!”  I don’t want to be a middle-aged aunt tonight.  So she hands me a red dress and I don’t look back.  The dance floor is calling me.

In my sister’s tiny back yard stands a wooden dance floor.  The men came to set it up today in the heat of the Vegas sun.  Nails pounding.  Sweat pouring.  But the sun is down.  The DJ is playing.  And the neighbors (and the police!) have been warned.  It’s not every day that we celebrate a woman coming of age. 

So we dance.

I look around the dance floor and I’m the oldest.  By about 20 years.  At first I feel a little silly (in my niece’s red dress and all) but then I don’t care.  I feel like I’m 18 again.  And it feels good.

My father spots me across the yard and he starts to walk toward me.  He had a bad fall today, and I know he is bleeding.  And hurting.  But his long pants are covering his fresh wounds, and I know he wants to dance.  He wants to feel 18 again too.

We both look at my niece, and she is beautiful.  It is her 18th birthday, and she is the star of this show.  And she loves to dance.  After all, it is in her blood.  So my father takes her hand, and they dance.  Together.

Mind you, he may have had trouble walking today.  But tonight he will dance.  With ease.  

Then my mother – the most beautiful woman alive – takes the dance floor.  She and my father are trying to do the jitter bug to rap music, and I’m laughing so hard that I think I might wet my pants -- not a good thing when you are wearing somebody else's dress.   And I’m reminded that these moments are gift.  These moments when we feel 18 again.

I happen to think we’re all going to be 18 in heaven.  Especially when we’re dancing.

(Kaitlyn at 18!)

When Is Healthy Competition Unhealthy?

Most workplaces thrive on competition.  Especially – especially - law firms.  I happen to know. 

After sixteen years of working at one of the largest and most competitive law firms on the planet, I’ve come to accept the inevitable: my work is often a zero sum game. 

Someone has to win.  Someone has to lose.  Welcome to the profession.

This reality hit me hard last week after a successful jury trial.  I extended my hand to the losing party, but he pulled away with anger and harsh words. (His wife also gave me a big scowl.)  What was I expecting, a hug?  After all, the goal in court is to win, not to make nice. 

Court isn’t the only place lawyers compete.  We compete for clients.  We compete for talent.  We compete with other lawyers.  We compete on behalf of our clients.  So why should internal competition be any different? 

[Click here to continue reading at The High Calling]

Putting Out Fires And Saving Sticky Buns

The coffee is brewing.  The bacon is sizzling.  And the sticky buns are baking.

Before the fire.

If you came to my house the morning of July 4th – before the infamous Upper Arlington Parade – you would have experienced this first hand.

I set my house on fire.  And we’re not talking about fireworks.

This playing with fire tends to stress out my husband (aka the Fire Putter Outer).  In fact, even before the flames, I can see him sweating while watching my crazed multi-tasking.

I’m frying eggs in one hand and cutting fruit with the other hand.  Pouring cereal for daughter #1 (she doesn’t like eggs) while daughter #2 insists on cracking eggs herself for the sticky buns.  Of course, she misses the bowl and we pick the egg shells out of the batter with our bare hands.  It’s 7:30 am and the guests will arrive in 30 minutes.  I sigh in relief when the sticky buns enter the oven at 7:35 am.  Finally, I can chug my coffee.

Then the smoke starts.  The sticky buns are sticky.  We use real butter.  And everyone knows that real butter burns.

My husband tries to detain the smoke, but it’s no use.  The flames are upon us.  He throws water on the fire and quickly squashes it.  (He then exits stage left to get some “air”.)

I am determined to save these sticky buns.  The real butter (albeit burnt) is calling me.  The guests don’t arrive for 20 minutes.  This gives me time to clear the smoke, turn on the fans, and transfer the buns into a new pan. 

And these buns are delicious.  After breakfast, we have plenty of eggs and fruit left.  Even the bacon remains.  But the sticky buns are gone.  Every last one.

A guest remarks, “I love these sticky buns.  Can you give me the recipe?”

My husband gives me the look and I laugh out loud.

Being a mom, wife, daughter, lawyer, and writer has a lot to do with saving sticky buns.  The fire will come.  I’m convinced that we spend too much time trying to prevent the fire when we really need to prepare for the fire.

Because once you make it through the fire, you have nothing to fear. 

**************

Each one’s work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done.  (1 Cor 3:13 ESV)

Is Writing Deadly?

I spend a lot of time sitting.  And according to a new study, this can be deadly!

That’s right.  A recently study by the American Cancer Association shows sitting too much will shave years off your life.  Women who sit more the 6 hours a day are 40% more likely to die sooner than women who sit only 3 hours a day (for men, the same study shows excessive sitters die 20% sooner).

Just a bit alarming.   Don’t you think?

Even putting my day job aside, what about all the time I spend writing.  Yikes!  How does one write (or blog) without sitting behind a computer?  It’s virtually impossible.

Am I taking years off my life at this very moment as I sit behind this screen, exercising only my fingers and my brain?  Ok, I’m starting to panic.  But what are my options, anyway?

1.  Quit writing.  I could find a new hobby.  I could take up golf or try roller skating.  Or maybe I should put the treadmill in the middle of our family room and start watching TV.  Better yet, I could start cleaning in the evenings.  My husband would be thrilled (since he doesn’t share my view that a clean house is overrated).  But I just might be miserable.  I’m terrible at golf, I haven’t roller skated since 7th grade, and I really hate TV.  Need I say anything about cleaning?

2.  Exercise more.  Given all the time I spend sitting, I just need to kick the cardio up a notch.  I could start running more.  I could train for another half-marathon.  I could try P90X again, even though the first time I wanted to die (not to mention eat everything in sight).  Or maybe I should be one of those people who parks her car in the far corner of the lot.  (I can just hear my kids complaining about the extra walking, but maybe I need to start working on them early!)

3.  Stand more.  I could get rid of my chair and my desk.  I could get one of those standing work stations – you know, the kind that is ergonomically correct so that I’m not hunched over when I type.  I could even get a stool (just for resting periods), and I could time myself to make sure I don’t sit more than 3 hours a day.  My mother happens to be pretty good at standing.  I can’t tell you how many times we’ve said, “Sit down, Mom!” and she replies,

“I’d rather stand!”

 Maybe she is on to something.

4.  Ignore the research.  But then again, aren’t you sick and tired of these studies?  It’s like we have no future – everything has been predetermined.  If you eat chips, you’re going to die of heart disease.  If you smoke, you’re going to die of lung cancer.  If you ride a motorcycle, you’re going to get killed in an accident.  Pretty soon, you’re going to tell me that my life span is genetic, and there’s nothing I can do about it!  Am I just another statistic?  And if God is in control, does my sitting (or lack of sitting) really make a difference anyway?

Maybe not.  But I don’t think I’m going to ignore the research either.  No, I’m not going to stop writing.  I’m not going jump back on P90X or get rid of my desk chair. 

But I think I’m going to try to sit less.  Want to join me?