Buddhist Marketer

Simmering Down

When I was in fourth grade, I shared a bedroom with both my younger brother and my younger sister.  They were both barely toddlers, and were easily riled up, especially since our beds were smooshed close together (my sister and I shared a bed).  One of my favorite “ornery older sibling” schemes was to get the kids going by throwing pillows, jumping up and down in the bed, and other “this is stuff that we should not be doing while Dad’s trying to fall asleep” shenanigans.

Of course, I was older than they were, and I could hear Mom’s feet flapping through our kitchen as she made her way to our room to kick some butt.  So I could quickly stop jumping around, get back under the covers, and act like I was asleep and gravely inconvenienced by the goings-on of my obnoxious younger siblings.  But my brother and sister would be chuckling up a storm, still throwing stuffed animals around and bouncing up and down.

Mom would throw the door open just as I let out a weak, “keep it down guys, I’m trying to sleep, I’ve got school tomorrow,” for effect.  And boy did my kid brother and sister get it!  And they never caught on, no matter how many times I’d pull this stunt.  They never knew when to crank it down a notch and pretend to be asleep before Mom tromped in.

I had a thought today at the office that this is not unlike what goes on in social settings amongst people who do not know each other particularly well (example: an office).  So the signals that one sends can often be misinterpreted, and not everyone knows the game that is being played — as with toddlers missing the cues and failing to learn the script being written by the older sibling.

To be a bit more concrete, there were people with whom I worked when I was a Jello wrestler who could simply not reconcile my jello wrestling with my work at a multiginormous bank.  “I always knew you weren’t cut out for corporate America!” someone (a Harvard grad, no less) emailed me when I announced I was leaving The Bank for God’s Social Network.  At the time, I wrote him off as a complete moron (which may or may not be true, but certainly would not hinge upon that one comment) and replied that perhaps Yalies were more multidimensional than kids who went to school in Cambridge (which may also be true).

But I think now I understand why this happens, why some people observe X and cannot see past it in order to also see the Y, the Z, and everything else.  All they can see is X.  They are like the little kids caught up in the moment of throwing pillows, and they are unable to hear feet flapping, are unable to switch gears rapidly.

So perhaps I need to be more sensitive and delicate when I decide to rile people up.  There are some who can see past X and chill it out quickly, and there are those who cannot.  There’s no use getting mad or annoyed or short about it.  I can always delegate the getting mad business to Mom.

Ready, Set –

The godawful part of a track meet is hovering post-”Set!” and pre-”Go!”.  Oh, starter pistol, please go off and release me from this bundle of possibilities.  Let me explode out of these starting blocks and hurtle myself towards the finish line.  Let me go.

Perhaps it is the spring weather, perhaps it is the continuous and delightful deep enjoyment I’m humming to with regards to my career (is it not delicious to feel connected to what you are doing and also understand how it weaves into the larger narrative of your professional life?  yum), perhaps it is the dance of the universe which has me juggling multiple real estate balls and multiple state income taxes and ambiguity.

Je ne sais pas, but there is a part of me that wishes I could say je sais. Que sera sera my ass; I am ready for the rest of my life to begin, already, and I want to set these boxes of crap that tie me to yesterday’s dreams aflame.  I want to be liberated from the starting blocks, I want to go.

All of which is to say, I wish I knew where to live.

Wrote A Song ‘Bout It

Actually, there are no songs written about it, as I am no song writer.  I am, however, a blogger, and a bad one at that.  I have no excuse for the dribble of blog posts; I’m not getting chemo, my blog’s not password protected, my high speed interwebz bill is fully paid for.

Howevz, I am actually making steady progress against my February 2010 goals, none of which included “blog eighteen million times a day”.

• I am totally going to make some four-cheese baked penne this weekend
• My bills are totally paid and up to date and I have LOTS of toilet paper on hand
• Okay, not so good with chucking it.  Note to self, ramp up the chucking.
• I have been meditating as many mornings as possible
• My apartment is totally in sublet-friendly condition and ready for its Craigslist debut!

Also, I have been socializing, what with Feb Club for Old People in both New York and Philly, and seeing friends that I hadn’t seen in moons (as I was too busy watching Netflix and eating delivery with my then-boyfriend (It’s so easy to get socially lazy when in a relationship!  What’s up with that?)), and going out on the town to catch a slice of the great cultural to-dos in these here parts.

And I’ve been traveling.  I was up in New Haven last week to let all the varsity athlete Bulldogs know Everything You Need To Know About A Career In Marketing.  And the ticket peeps on Amtrak between NYC and Philly are going to start knowing my face, and the front boys at the ghetto fabulous hotel I stay at near my client (and future employer!) already know my foul-mouthed self (”Hey!  Where the f— is the shuttle perchance?  I’m freezing my tits off at the Philly airport!”).

Which of course means I have also been working.  Like, work-working, as opposed to hassling clients for overdue payments or dealing with payroll ish or bugging contractors for work completion timelines.

I’d forgotten how much I enjoy the human aspects of working, the managing and helping others to see and be sensitive to the needs of others (read: navigate the political landscape of any organization so that they can effectively get ish done).  I also really like engineering business processes that enable awesome marketing.  Give me checklists or give me death!

Which brings up another point: much of my goal achievement has been enabled by a daily checklist that spells out stuff like

• Sudarshan kriya, 30 minutes
• Make dinner, 59 minutes
• Weight circuit, 25 minutes
• Clean and wash dishes, 59 minutes

which is why my apartment is now in good shape and why I treat myself to hot tea every evening before retiring and which is why I should not be looking at a computer at 9:47 p.m. since my get off the computer cutoff time is totally 9

I’ll Show You Mine

Inspired by Priscilla:

Click the images for a full annotation of the stuff :)

Random Seven

Priscilla tagged me in her recent list of seven random factoids-about-self, and since I’ve adored this girl ever since we taught math together in college (and she got me the dopest Little Kitty wallet), I’m in (with apologies to Bree for not yet having posted pictures of my work space …) -

1. I love my family. In fact, I am typing this while sitting three feet away from my little sister, who I get to see at least weekly since she works for the sister company of one of my clients my future employer.  We are intense, complicated, deep, and strong.  We yell and laugh with equal vigor, and for all the ways in which they’ve driven me crazy at different points throughout my life, I have no doubt that they would break as many laws as I would for them in order to check their six.
2. I just bought my first custom-made suit. At first I thought the jacket buttons were improperly located; then I realized I have simply never worn anything but an ill-fitting suit jacket.  And the suit is fantastic (wearing it now) — the pinstripes align at the seams, the lining perfectly matches a pair of Hanky Pankies, and it makes me feel confident and competent but not in a suffocated, conformist-sheep kind of way (with apologies to Walter Lippmann).  Ladies, if you are in need of a custom suit, holler at Dawn and tell her Anittah sent you.
3. Every day I wear a ring I bought in Aruba in 2007.  I had never before taken a beach vacation but my friend Rachel encouraged me to join her for a “NYCBABYLON and XOXOANP Caribbean Consumer Generated Media Blowout Week” a few years ago, and we’re about to have our fourth annual trip.  It is fantastic down time and Rachel and I are great travel companions.  It’s nice to be able to chill out and shut up for once, and Rach does a fabulous job of keeping me entertained so that I can put my entertainer hat / jazz hands on mute for a week.  About the ring: it’s narrow, sterling silver, fits my middle finger, and has one of those sparkly amber opals (my birth stone).
4. I wonder if I will have my own babies some day. I would like to be a foster mom if the whole sprouting-progeny thing doesn’t happen before my eggs rot.  I do wonder if I’ll regret not selling my eggs for $46K back in the day.
5. I am really excited to be an employee again.  Some entrepreneurs say that you can never go back to working for someone else once you’ve been on your own, and, I don’t know.  I feel a shift within me that suggests the chip on my shoulder that made employee-hood feel like handcuffs is no longer there.  And, I feel that I now that I am always my own boss, even if in the employ of other people.  I really can’t wait to join in on the efforts to build a truly fantastic organization and product.  Plus, cash flow has been a biznatchee — I am still waiting on tens of thousands of dollars from a couple of my clients for 2009 work.  !@#$%^&
6. I love it when my friends from different circles meet one another. This past weekend an Academite new to NYC came to a party thrown by a friend that I met through my college roommates.  And he came strong — he flew in solo, was chatting it up with everyone quite easily, and literally sparkled across the room (the gold crown and armbands that he was sporting didn’t hurt).  He did the Academy proud, and also told me, “Hey, you’ve got some pretty cool friends!”  I agree.  I do have some pretty cool friends, and I can’t wait to engineer processes that help them to meet one another (as if the cross-circle Facebook status update commenting was not enough).
7. I have worn my new leather boots pretty much every single day since they arrived. They are a bit too big for me (about 1/2 a size) but they took six weeks to arrive, cut the wind like no other, and have no heel so are easy to wear when pulling luggage and/or tromping up mass transit stairs.  So screw it - I’ll let them flop around a bit and make my feet look even more ginorm than they already are.  They are the most expensive pair of shoes I’ve ever purchased and are worth every penny.  Now if only I could get a pair in every color of the rainbow!

Et voila.

Of course, none of these random seven tidbits actually compare to that which is probably a superior assessment of my person: click here to read the Amazon.com review of ANP!

I’m not going to tag anyone because I don’t want to give anyone homework.  But please feel free to follow suit, and add a link to your post in the comments!  :)

(#8 - I like to throw people over my shoulder and/or back)

05 CLS

I still feel guilt about that March 1997 spring break afternoon.

Coach Willie had arranged for a practice regatta against two other schools (lingua Indiana: scrimmage). Looking back I recognize the coordination that must have gone into organizing the row. Which schools were training down in Tampa? Which ones had the same spring break schedule as us? Which ones were also bringing down novice boats? Willie must have done all of this behind the scenes.

But that wasn’t on my mind as we started paddling towards the starting line. What was on my mind was that I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t row, there was no way in hell I was going to race that day. I buried myself somewhere deep within and completely shut down. Maybe it was a panic attack but all I can remember is telling Maggie in front of me that I didn’t feel well, that I was sick, I couldn’t row, I couldn’t do it.

Had Willie been more like the chair-throwing basketball coach I had in middle school, he might’ve raised his voice and told me snap out of it. “Quit your lollygaggin’, Patrick!” was what Coach Hutton used to bellow, all the more amusing since I was a record-setting sprinter. And who knows, maybe yelling would have helped. Maybe if Mags had been able to turn around in the boat and put her hands on my shoulders and talk me off the ledge, that could’ve helped. Who knows.

But Willie had the mild demeanor of an ultra marathoner, so he simply stated, “It’s too bad I didn’t know sooner. I could have brought an extra rower out on the launch to swap you out.” And so I curled down into my oar, head into my knees, the five seat behind me likely watching her oar flap and bounce and slap along the water as the rest of the team paddled back to the boathouse. Willie looked quietly on from the launch.

I crashed onto a couch at the boathouse and passed into blackness for a few hours, not knowing why I’d shut down and certainly unable to switch myself back on. The bright Florida sunshine and boisterousness of the rowers buzzed around me, but there I was, a lump on the couch. Broken. Down.

I had disappointed my entire boat. And to this day I am not entirely sure how or why that happened.

*  *  *

The Sunday after New Year’s Day, I broke one of Pablo’s wine glasses while washing dishes at his apartment. When he returned home from the gym, I stood up with mock seriousness and announced, “I have some bad news to report.”

He blinked at me with expectation. He looked nervous. My acting chops must be better than I thought!

I reported the broken glass, but assured him, “Don’t worry, I have dozens of wine glasses so it shouldn’t be a problem once we theoretically cohabitate.” He’d been talking about getting married and having babies and moving in together since practically the moment we met, after all, and we’d recently agreed to move in together when his lease expired in March.

“Well,” he said, turning to put down his bag, blinking, “I have some bad news too.” He paused, and suddenly the air felt like gravy. “I renewed my lease. I’m not ready to move in with you.”

And so there it was. We were at the starting line, and yet, he couldn’t row.

And so I looked down at my luggage, opened it up, filled it with my belongings, and rolled away.

* * *

“Well, there go my 2010 goals!” I thought, huffing the six blocks or so to my own studio. “And damn, I just blogged about them, and then published the post to my open Facebook feed. Argh!”

And then, “This is what I get for trusting someone!” But I quickly batted that mosquito-thought away. Humans are humans; they’re not predictable lines of IF THEN code, and just as I discover new and interesting things about myself each day, so too does everyone else about themselves. So what if he had claimed he wanted to get me pregnant? Man, every dude with half a brain probably “thinks”, on some level, that he wants to get me pregnant.

But the river moves, and the moment you try and freeze-frame it, it ceases to be a river.

I was sifting through some papers in my office the other day, attempting to declutter that thing so I can open up a think tank co-op of sorts, when I happened upon a print-out of a blog post from a few years ago.

But now the streets of Brooklyn, once pure, have been tainted with the sour hue of failed relationships. The Park Slope photographer, the Park Slope film director, the unemployed guy in Greenpoint, the social worker in Prospect Heights: fits and starts, the engine stalls, fifth gear is never reached.

I’m a high octane woman. I can do better than this.

“Wow,” I thought. “What a bitch.” Better than? And the only data points provided are the careers of the men in question?

Good gravy. It made me squirm to face up to those words I’d written just two and a half years ago. And yet those were mine, and there’s the time stamp, and, ugh.

Of course, the lens through which you see other people illuminates the lens through which you see yourself. Of course I would say something obnoxious about being “better than” a man of “insert job title here.” Because my value as a human being was woven into my job title. So his was, too. QED.

* * *

And then this weekend I heard myself telling the story of the night I lost my virginity. I said the nickname of the V-card bandit – a name that had easily rolled off my tongue for years – and something inside me recoiled as I said it. Now I heard a derisiveness in the moniker, a cutting tone to which I’d been deaf before. I don’t think I’ll ever say those words again, not like that, and it’s curious to me that I once used to toss them around like a softball. Cherry Poppin’ Jew. Egads, even typing it makes me itch. Of course, Cherry Poppin’ Philosopher doesn’t have quite the same poetry to it, but hey, perhaps I no longer need to bundle humans up into tidy, clever bows. Perhaps he can simply be the guy in college that introduced me to Brad Mehldau, Ravel’s La Mer, and actual Webster’s definition sex.

But how interesting that I’m sensitive to my jerky ways of yore, and yet, I’m simply not feeling mope-a-dope as expected about the end of the “most serious” healthy relationship I’ve had in my adult life. It isn’t to say that we didn’t share good times and warm feelings for one another. But perhaps, too, already in the weeks apart I can enjoy a clarity that front-and-center does not always afford. Maybe I can see the 6H pencil sketch of a pattern around the edges of certain behaviors, certain comments. The pattern of someone not unlike the woman I used to be – a little bit angry, a lotta big judgy, and always. With. The clever.

Well, I know how I feel about some of the things I used to say back in the day. They make me blush, and not in a good way.

And so maybe this is why, when my friends ask how I’m doing, I can honestly tell them, “I’m doing great. I feel really content.”

*  *  *

Of course, there remains the pesky matter of 2010 goals! Fortunately, I am never lacking with things to do and schemes to execute. And so here we have my top five goals for February:

1. Cook nutritious meals!
2. Stay on top of the day to day, e.g., bills and clean socks and plenty of toilet paper!
3. Chuck it!
4. Meditate, downward dog, warrior 72.6, sudarshan kriya, etc.
5. Sublet the apartment for when I’m out of town

So there you have it, folks. I guess I won’t be marrying that boy from Ohio after all. And while I’m deeply at peace with this …

I still feel a little guilty about depriving my teammates of an opportunity to scrimmage in Tampa against those two other schools oh so many years ago.

I’m sorry, ladies.  Let me know if you want me to cook you up a nutrient-dense dinner.

xo

On Singledom’s Merits

I was lying in bed the other night around eleven and I realized, “Damn, I can totally go to a strip club right now and no one will stop me.”  And that’s exactly what I did.

Quoth one of my clients (and future colleague) en route to a cheese steak taste test.  (Geno’s wins.)

Want To Eat Healthier In 2010?

One of my key goals this month is to cook nutritious meals.  In my hunt for a “Cooking Fundamentals” class (recommendations welcome … I don’t think a few semesters of Home Economics with Melba Holmgren counts … as good as she was …), I came across a talk by the author of a kick-arse book that dramatically altered the way I look at what I’m noshing on.

People who eat the most animal-based foods get the most chronic disease.  People who eat the most whole plant-based foods are the healthiest and tended to avoid chronic disease.

That’s Dr. T. Colin Campbell, nutrition guru behind the most comprehensive study of health and nutrition ever conducted.  Surprised you haven’t heard about it?  Well, that’s because agribusiness doesn’t want you to eat more healthfully.  What’s in your best interest is not in the best interest of Big Farm.

His talk is February 17th, 6:45p - 9:30p.  You can click here to learn more about his live talk “Change Your Diet: Save Your Life”, or click here to investigate his book The China Study.

[Here's a link to a video that I can't figure out how to embed: vid of Dr. Yum]

2010 Goals

I’ve spent the past several weeks working on 2010 marketing goals for one of my clients.  However, it didn’t occur to me to leverage the same goal definition and prioritization methodology on my personal goals until a couple of weeks ago.  So while I don’t have the time to expose my algorithm for how I came up with these, here’s my goals for next year — with quasi-confidential information obscured.

Yep, I’m moving in with my boyfriend, code named “Pablo” to protect the innocent.  I have never completely shared a space with a romantic partner in my entire life, and I suspect that this is going to be a unique and oftentimes stressful experiment (though not unwelcome) (okay, relationships are not experiments, but still).

And living with someone means I am going to have to rewire lots of practically hard-coded programs, such as

• dressing like a slob
• eating like a slob
• putting myself first 100% of the time

The mental calculus is different when optimizing for “us” as opposed to “me”; since I only recently learned how to optimize for me, it’s going to be interesting to see how I react to the whole cohabitation thing (and all that it entails).  Wish me luck — and let me know if you know of any reasonably priced one bedroom apartments within walking distance from the Empire State Building / PATH train / Amtrak / Stumptown coffee.

Of course, while the three big picture goals are going to, on the balance, consume my attentions for the year, by changing the timeframe and breaking things down on a quarterly basis, my goals look nominally different:

It is very important to me to not forget the fundamentals of meditation, yoga, and healthy flexitarian eating (and concomitant soul-soothing joy of making oneself a hearty meal), even in the hubbub of all my goings-on-about-universe.  Speaking of which, one of my unwritten goals for next year is to

Be Better

which necessarily means I must

Do Less

which means I must

• Stop raising my hand and/or volunteering for things
• Grow increasingly comfortable with non-achievement
• Value myself as a being-unto-herself

If I cannot accommodate this, then I will forever need to keep “tasks” such as “Go on dates with Pablo” on my to-do list.  And instead of naturally and automatically having down time to enjoy the company of myself and those I love, I will need to “program” this time in.  Sure, it’s great to demarcate boundary lines of “me” time — and even once I no longer overextend-n-overachieve I am sure I will keep this up — but the deeper, more fundamental challenge that I am journeying towards surmounting is no longer seeing myself and valuing myself for the things that I do, rather than, the human that I am.

So, do less.  Be better.  And until then, don’t forget to do something fun and interesting and new each week with the people that I love.

Changing the optimization timeframe once again, here’s my January goals:

I’ve got a secret project there at the bottom that, knock on wood, will be non-secret by quarter’s end.  And you can help out with my other goals, too:

• Know anyone who wants to rent a desk? I’ve got extra space in my office, conveniently located right across from the Ace Hotel / Breslin dining room / Stumptown coffee at 29th and Broadway (Bree - can I use an ‘&’ there?).  Great for someone starting a new venture.  Especially good for entrepreneurettes.
• Know anyone who wants to sublet a studio and/or find a pied-a-terre? I’ve got a freshly painted studio at 32nd and Fifth that I will definitely not be using during the middle of the week — one of my clients needs me on-site in another state.  Plus, “Pablo” and I are moving in together starting March 1st, and my lease does not end until 10/1.  You do the math :)

Feel free to spread the word and have interested peeps give me a buzz at (212) 532-2405.

So that’s the score on 2010.  I’m making my goals transparent because

• that’ll keep me honest
• perhaps it’s a good example (?)
• Joan Didion, notebooks, etc.

Happy New Year, all y’all.  And yo, yo —

2009, I’mma let you finish, but 2010 is gonna be the best year of all time!

More On Fringe/Justice

The progressive laws of culture are the brilliant work-around to the brutal law of the jungle. So sure, we’ll build access ramps, finance kneeling buses, design J blades and invent push-rim wheelchairs — not out of pity or political correctness but so that a wider range of human talent can enter the fray and win or lose.

From: Randy Cohen’s 2009.11.10 Are High-Tech Prostheses Fair?