Busyness Isn’t Business

How’s business? 

Great! I’m busier than a one-armed juggler!

That’s nice. But are you making any money? * drops mic

And there we have it, folks,  the Fear-less Fact that being busy is not the same as being profitable.

Let’s say you have 12 clients who contract you for small jobs, paying anywhere from $100 – $400 a piece. Imagine in one month they all hire you for a $400 job each. At the end of the month, that’s $4,800. Now think about how much time you’ve spent managing each client with phone calls, meetings, emails, not even touching upon how many hours you actually spent on their projects.  Pass the Tylenol.

Now let’s imagine you have three clients paying you $2,000 as a flat retainer – that’s $6,000 a month and you have only three clients to focus on. Sure, you’ll have to provide even greater customer service at that price point but your work and satisfaction level – for both you and your client – is going to be far higher than juggling numerous clients with small projects. Pass the Moet y Chandon.

Which scenario would you rather have – busyness or a business?

Now before you start with the internal monologue of terror with the “but how can I start charging so much more money? How will I get clients? How will I survive??!!”, chillax (as my 8 year-old is saying ad nauseum these days). Others have done it and I’ve done it. Was it scary? As hell. But so glad I did it.

A number of years ago, my wedding planning company was going great gangbusters. Between our planning and travel divisions, we had 14 employees and months where we had 13 weddings. It was insanely busy for all of us and while it was profitable, we had to keep running on the hamster wheel to cover all the expenses. Then I became pregnant and realized that I couldn’t keep up the same pace once the baby came, nor did I want to. Burnout was peeking its blackened head over the not so far horizon and I wasn’t eager to become his new buddy. Something had to change.

Around that time, I hired a planner from LA. She was a firecracker and a vigorously shaken bottle of Dom all mixed together with confidence to put Muhammed Ali (RIP) to shame – to say she stirred things up would be a gross understatement. When she booked her first client, she charged double what we normally charged without blinking. And the client signed on the dotted line without balking.

What. How. Huh?

It must be some Jedi mind trick, I thought. But nope, she just had the cajones to charge what we really should have been charging for a while but were too afraid to. For years, I’d held a self-limiting belief that we couldn’t charge more than XX or else no one would hire us. I’d upped our fees a bit after a groom told me during the reception that I really needed to raise my prices (when a client is telling you to charge more, you know you’ve been lowballing yourself). But to make that jump to where we really should have been seemed too risky.

But LA Spitfire Girl saw without fear-tinged glasses that we’d undervalued our services and it was time to change things up for the better. Which we did. Overnight. Took a deep breath, prayed to anyone up there who would listen and doubled our fees. Then prayed some more.

And we continued to book clients who didn’t blink at the prices. Definitely, we had fewer clients than before but that was the idea. We’d been in business for a number of years, had garnered a great reputation and were finally (!) charging what we were worth. The clients who booked us understood the value of our services and weren’t nickel and diming over every small charge the way budget clients tend to. Result? We have more time to spend with each client, more time to be creative and more time period.

So, are you charging what you’re worth or are you undercutting yourself? If you have busyness, what do you have to change to have a business?

 

 

 

The Amazing Lightness of Being with No F*cks to Give

We’ve all been there – that heart-stopping moment when you’ve hit rock bottom, where you feel trapped and have nowhere to turn. The cold fingers of absolute panic creeping up your spine to your cerebral cortex, freezing your brain into a loop of “this can’t be happening this can’t be happening”  as we slip into a static state of denial. After the storm subsides and we’ve accepted that this is the new reality, we have reached that magical space where we have No More Fucks to Give. *cue angelic choir

It’s liberating to be at a point where you can say “screw it” and move on. It’s like a cleansing rain after a long, hot summer, rinsing away all the dust, the dirt, coaxing forth new buds and shoots. Everything looks shiny, new, rebirthed. There’s nowhere to go but up.

And that’s where the creative juices really start to flow, because you no longer have to worry about the worse – you’ve experienced it. When you’ve got nothing left to lose, your mind has the luxury of imagining everything.

One of my favorite NMFTG moments is from the best movie ever, Raiders of the Lost Ark (saw it 24 times in the theatre when it came out, still in love with it and yes, I’m 12 years old). There is a scene where Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) is chasing after the Nazis in a crowded market. The throng parts to unveil a blackclad swordsman swinging a saber with wicked delight, all ready for a showdown with our hero. Instead of engaging in a fight, Indy shoots the guy and moves on because he was busy and had NMFTG.  The scene is pure brilliance for its unexpected badd-assery.

What’s interesting is the story behind how that scene came to be. Shooting in Tunisia, most of the crew and cast had come down with dysentery, including Harrison Ford. Originally, the script had called for an epic bullwhip/saber fight but the day of shooting, Ford was so sick he said, “let’s just shoot the fucker”. With NMFTG, his creativity was cranked up to 11 and, thus, one of the greatest film scenes was born.

I had a NMFTG moment 13 years ago and it changed my company profoundly. During my first year of business, I was the full-time wedding planner for a travel agency. One day, the owner and I didn’t see eye to eye on something and boom, we parted ways.

Which I was not expecting.

Of course, I panicked. I’d just hired a full-time assistant who was depending on me for a livelihood. Without the leads from the agency, where was the business going to come from? Where was I going to get money? How was I going to survive? OMG I’m a failure, the sky is falling and the earth is going to swallow me whole!!!

Then came the calm and shortly there after, I had exactly zero fucks to give. Fine, you don’t want to work with me? I’ll  work for myself. And that’s exactly what I did. Built a website, reached out to hotels, had my weddings published in magazines and when blogs emerged, started the first wedding blog in Costa Rica. Five hundred weddings later, being set adrift was the best thing to have happened to my company because it caused me to step up to the plate and take charge. I created my business on my terms.

When things are going well, we get complacent. We keep on keeping on. Change – why? Everything is groovy. It’s not until the rug is whipped out from under us and we’re lying in a heap wonder what the hell just happened that we spring into action. Fight or flight.

So here’s my challenge to you. What is your biggest worry, the one that keeps you up in the wee dark hours. Got it? Imagine it’s just happened. For reals. Scary, isn’t it? Now imagine all your fucks are gone. What do you do? How do you move forward? What’s the new game plan? Got it? Write it down.

Now, what’s holding you back from making these changes?

Go forth like you have NMFTG and watch the magic happen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Amazing Power of NO

NO.

It’s a short, powerful word that we add to our vocabulary pretty early in life, driving parents crazy around the age of two as we repeat it ad nauseum. But as we grow older, we don’t say it as much, because we don’t want to offend or hurt someone’s feelings. If you’re a people pleaser (guilty as charged), it usually gets stuck mid-throat and rather than fight with the larynx to let it out, we end up shaking our head in the affirmative with a fake smile plastered on for good measure because we want the other person to be happy. To like us – it’s middle school all over again.

Can you work late? – Sure!

Would you like to go to the dance with me?-  Yes!

Could you give me a discount? – OK.

We’ve just screwed ourselves over by committing to something we really, really didn’t want to because we’re afraid of making the other person upset. There is no escape pod to jettison out on, no turning back, no graceful way out without upsetting the other party and looking like a jerk. So we grit our teeth and push on through, silently fuming about it as the black pit of resentment grows deep in our bowels.

Ugh. What a horrible way to live.

What’s worse is the insidiousness of acrimony, quietly gnawing away at relationships like a cancer, eroding trust and camaraderie little bit by little bit until there is an anger filling in all the empty spaces. All because of one little word that was never uttered.

Well, no more, my friends. It’s time to embrace the NO. Own it, make it yours, be unabashedly upfront for your fondness for it. NO creates velvet-roped boundaries that must be heeded. NO creates respect for your time, your knowledge, your love and your service. NO leaves a place for you in a world with an insatiable appetite to gobble all.

Now this isn’t a Get Out of Jail card to go all Joffrey from Game of Thrones since the idea is not to piss everyone off to the point they want to kill you in the most painful way possible. Rather, it’s about sharing what you are able to offer. It’s not a rejection of the other person but respecting them and yourself enough to create an honest dialogue.  Or as the Piano Man once crooned, “honesty is such a lonely word and all I really want from you.”

The thing about NO is that it can be said in many other ways that are kinder, gentler but still truthful. How do you do this?

a) use positive language so a NO sounds more like a YES

Would you like to go to the dance with me? – Thank you so much for the invitation. It’s wonderful you’d think of me. I’m so sorry but no, I’m not able to. I’m sure you’ll still have a great time even if I’m not your dance partner!

b) try to offer an alternative  solution

Can you work late? – I’d love to spend more time on this project but unfortunately, I have other commitments today so, no,  I can’t stay. Let’s see how I can help during the rest of the week. 

c) give a detailed explanation

Could you give me a discount? – I’d love to work with you on this but the price is firm so I’m not able to give you a discount. What I can do, however, is give you (XYZ) as a bonus. How does that sound?

Not so hard, right? No one walks away feeling like the other person is an ass, you don’t feel like you’ve given away the farm for a one-way ticket to Sucky Town and everyone feels  they’ve negotiated for their best interests. Win/win.

Don’t fear the NO. Take it and wrap it lovingly within a velvet glove to be gently offered, as one would to a gentleman upon alighting from a carriage (maybe I’ve watched Pride and Prejudice once too many times).

Be fear-less but gentle for NO is a powerful ally. Make it yours.

Have Brain – Will Cower

It’s amazing how much our brains, filled with whatever silly fears we decide to fill them up with, can alter our reality. And I don’t state this in some Nag Champa-induced fog, listening to my chakras realign. I saw it in action today with crystal clarity. And it blew me away.

My daughter, Luba,  takes riding lessons and loves to jump – which, to be honest, does kinda scare the crap out of me sometimes because she’s only 8-years old and damn, those horses are big (working on my fear but a mom’s protective nature is hard to circumvent). She is training for a competition this weekend, the first time she is to compete jumping 60 centimeters. Which is a big step for a slip of a thing who still sleeps with a teddy bear and believes wholeheartedly in the Tooth Fairy.

Her coach had told her she’d be riding Shakira (not the hip-shakin’ Columbian singer), which is a horse Luba has had some trouble with. Shakira is just s head-strong as her fellow Latina namesake and it takes some work to bring her to heel. Although Luba hasn’t had any real problems with her, she is nonetheless fixated on how difficult it is going to be for her to compete on Shakira.

Today, she thought she was riding Shakira and her class was, frankly, a mess. She missed most of her jumps, was fighting to keep control of the horse and was at times, getting panicky and messy. Smartly, her coach decided to put her in the lower category of cross-bars rather than risk a tumble or an elimination in the 60 cm tourney. She was devastated with the downgrade but we all agreed it was for the best. There would be other shows, other tourneys and other opportunities when she was more confident.

At the end of class, we discovered she wasn’t riding the dreaded Shakira but Pavo, one of her favorite horses. A horse she has won competitions riding. A horse she never has any problems with.

And that’s when the realization hit me.

My girl had worked herself into such a tizzy thinking she was riding the horse she dreaded, she caused the horse she adores to feel her fear and act accordingly. She had created her own fear-based reality.

Whoa.

Had she gone into class knowing she was on Pavo, I’m positive it would have been a completely different experience. But by letting her mind trick her into believing she was on a difficult horse, she had exactly that experience because the mind is just that powerful.

So Luba and I had a long chat about not letting our mind freak us out into believing something that’s not really happening (which was probably the same kind of convo one would have with Timothy Leary, but I digress). Being the astute child she is (yay for good genes), she got it.

Fast forward to the competition…she rode Shakira to a flawless performance.  And the week after to jumps of 60cm AND 70cm with an aplomb that belied her young years.

Because she changed her head game. Because she changed her fear of Shakira to the unique kind of love a rider can have with a horse who proves to be true and steadfast.

In order to fear-less, we need to ride Pavo in our minds, even if  the beast below is really a Shakira.

Ride on.

 

 

 

 

Middle Age Momma Takes on the Gym (or How I Almost Died on the Rower and Had an Epiphany)

I’ve started back at the gym recently. Nothing to stop the presses over I realize, but it’s a big step towards living life in a fear-less way.

Let’s be honest – gyms are intimidating as hell. All those mirrors, all those machines that may or may not have been intrinsic to the Spanish Inquisition, all those perfectly sculpted bodies clad in skimpy form-fitting Lycra, all those apparatuses that require an advanced degree in physics to operate. I walk in and feel like mushy mere mortals such as myself have as much business here as we do traipsing through the marbled halls of Mount Olympus with Zeus and his gang of Greek gods.

The negative little voices start up in my mind (you know the ones) – you’re not fit enough, you’re not thin enough, your workout clothes are older than Jazzercise, you’re going to make a fool of yourself,  you don’t belong here.  

And there it is – Fear, creep, creep, creeping up to rain self-doubt and loathing down upon my psyche. Fear trying to maintain the status quo and boundaries I’ve created around my life. Fear trying its damnedest to keep me under its control.

Stupid Fear.

But then my practical brain kicks in to remind me I’d taken advantage of the opening special and have prepaid for four months (and received two months free!) so there was no backing out. Crap.

I steel myself for utter humiliation. May as well get it over with, I tell myself. Get in, sweat like a Sumo wrestler in a Swedish sauna and get out before I have to make eye contact with anyone.

So far so good. No one has tripped over their Nikes yet wondering how I snuck in or fallen off the Stairmaster snickering at my running shorts from 1999 (having a design resembling confetti  exploding all over your butt was considered the height of active wear fashion back then, thank you very much).

The staff are helpful, seem genuinely nice and make a point to learn my name.Of course, they are paid to make everyone feel good but it lulls me into a sense of security.  Feeling pretty pretty good. I see my friend who runs 1,000 km a day. She’s thrilled I’m getting physical, maybe secretly hoping I’ll become her running buddy. Sure, if they give out bionic legs and lungs to keep up with her. I run into someone else I know. He’s the Costa Rican version of a Runner’s World cover model. He smiles and wishes me a buenos dias . OK, so maybe I may just get out of this with my dignity still in one piece.

Then I get talked into trying the daily challenge they’re hosting for prizes. My competitive streak rises to the fore – once an athlete, always an athlete I guess and I’m not about to step away from a goal just because the most active thing I’ve done these  past months is running my mouth off. Game on!

“It’s easy”, says Marathon-mom friend. “Row 400 meters in two minutes.”

Sure it is. You’re an Amazon Queen in Spandex. Me, not so much. Two minutes, I calculate, is enough time to possibly cough up a lung but probably not enough to cause cardiac arrest. I think I can do this. I watch the first two ladies try. We cheer them on, hoping our cries of ‘si se puede’  will somehow heave a Rocky-esque victory of body over machine out of their struggling souls. One concedes her failure to the Mighty Rowmaster after a minute and the other squeaks in at the 1:59 mark.

Suddenly, I’m thinking I’ve over-estimated exactly how much I can push this 50-year old body before it tells me to piss off. And right about then, my old friend Fear shows up. You’re  not fit enough,  she whispers wickedly.  You’re going to fail in front of all these people.

You’ve become old. 

And there it is, out in the open. I’m afraid I’ve become a shadow of my younger, fitter, more flexible self. In my mind, I’m still the young girl who ran circles around the track, the young woman who was captain of the varsity fencing team, the woman who made her living through dance. I pushed my body to be faster, higher, better and it complied. Nothing seemed impossible and failure wasn’t even a consideration. There was no try, only do. And I thought I’d be that way forever.

Being here, surrounded by mirrors and machines to push my body in ways it hasn’t in years, in ways it protests against or outright refuses to cooperate with, I have no choice but to face the reality that I’m no longer that young woman.  My youth has slipped away, leaving in its wake middle age. And that’s what scares me. Not the baby belly I’m still carrying around eight years after my daughter’s birth, not the fact I can’t run 10km without needing a medic nor that I need to lower the weights my trainer had optimistically set for my maiden work out (bless him for thinking I’m that strong).

I have a choice – admit defeat and live in the shadow of what was or take up the challenge and move onto the next chapter of Life.

Onto the rower. Count down and…go! I start off strong. Ha! I’ll show Fear and Señor Rowmaster who’s Boss!

Thirty seconds later, the fatigue hits. Who am I kidding? This is killing me! Another minute and a half? What the hell was I thinking?

Fear dances delightedly. She’s winning by my defeat. A lung feels like it’s migrating North…

“Don’t you DARE stop.”

Marathon-mom’s sensing my weakening and isn’t standing for it. All muscles and purple spandex, I’m not about to broach her, despite the fact I think I may start to hack up blood.

Now everyone is rallying behind me, urging me onwards, counting down the final meters. So…close…

I feel my head beginning to swim, my breath like hot lava in my lungs, my arms and legs over-cooked spaghetti from an Olive Garden in Des Moines. This mortal coil is 10 seconds away from being shucked off.

And then I’ve passed the finish line. With eight seconds to spare.

“I knew you could do it,” beams Marathon-mom.

Just like that, I’ve done what I thought I couldn’t. Others saw my potential but my little friend Fear had convinced me otherwise. As I collapse in a sweaty, heaving heap, I realize that listening to Fear holds us back from so much. We give in to its deceptions, stopping before we ever start. And by not doing anything, Fear wins.

Life is about doing. Like a shark, Life needs to keep moving forward or it dies. Progressing in Life means gaining years so getting older isn’t failure – it’s fact. Nothing stays the same  and aging requires that we adapt and adjust. No one is immune to Time and to expect otherwise is just nuts, despite what the beauty creams and plastic surgeons say.

As my breathing returned to normal and feeling returned to my noodley legs, I had a flash of insight. Fear doesn’t want us to let go of the comfortable past while Life needs us to move forward, into the adventure of the unknown. We will never have this day or hour or minute again so trying to hold onto the past is futile. We’ll never be that young girl/boy or woman/man we were because Time has marched us into the Future. They no longer exist because a newer version of ourselves has replaced them. Rather than struggling to hold onto those outdated versions of ourselves, we must open the space for the new, improved us and release the idea that we will ever be what we once were. Comparing our current selves against what we were takes us into Norma Desmond territory, frozen in a crazed time capsule complete with pet monkeys.

I look forward to the gym now, to what my body accomplishes on its daily adventure, seeing the supportive group of folks doing their best to improve little bit by little bit.  I’ve made peace with the mirror  – the workout clothes may look the same as they did back in the day but the body wearing them doesn’t and never will again. Nor is the body capable of what it was 15 years ago. And that’s OK because I’m excited to see what I can do, how I’m changing and where this swimming shark of Life is taking me.

Maybe I’ll buy some new gym shorts to celebrate.