Used Car Salesman

used car salesman

Which element of your best work do you most want to amplify this year? 

I’m sitting at the north end of the borrowed hardwood kitchen table, squarely facing the antique, white, double-basin kitchen sink and the stretches of golden, wooden counter top on either side. Although it’s just me in the house, I know that I am not alone. My right eye is just waiting to catch the skitter-skatter of country mouse scampering across.

I know he (or she) is here. I came home, after a day away for Christmas, to find (the quite lovely) pattern that mouse claws or front teeth nibbled away from the surface of the now-hardened pork fat drained off the Christmas Eve ham and into the faded, green Pyrex dish. Placed sink-side, the salty greasy goodness was impossible for him to resist. I also find his little poops under the sink. I’ve heard a mousy squeak once or twice as well. He, or she, or they – they’re good. Sneaky. Stealthy. Efficient. They do their best work when alone, in the dark, stealth-like. Knowing what’s best for survival, he scoots around the spotlight, the daylight, the snap of the trap, and people in general. He doesn’t need applause or recognition. He does best when completely invisible to the surrounding world of humans and farm cats and possums and raccoons.

I’m the same way.

Most of the time.

I write in private. Often at night. I share through online platforms and social media. I write letters. I share writings with a few friends through the good old fashion mail. I make tiny collages. I craft spaces. I design things. I make space.

Somewhere along the way, for a reason I have not yet been able to determine, I decided it was best to not be showy. To not be overly-visible. Not loud. Instead to be demure, quiet, reserved. At least in person, at least in my mannerisms.

I don’t mean this as in to hide entirely, but instead that it feels most authentic to not run around being loud about my feelings, my successes, my work, my accomplishments. That the cream rises to the top. That it’s better to have sweet potato substance on the inside, rather than an ethereal, fluffy, meringue-like substance on the outside. (Let me tell you, meringue does not last very long and it’s mostly air and it gets soupy and almost disappears as you try to spoon it out of the pie plate less than twenty-four hours after it’s been baked.) This is the part of me that hardly posts any photos of my self to the internet. Who wants her words to speak for themselves, instead of any photo or image or aesthetic getting in the way.

This may very well be that so many of my mentors, the strong women who have taught me the most, the women I look up to – they own their success so much that it speaks for them. They don’t have to preach, they don’t have to broadcast. They just have to step up and own it when the recognition or praise or gratitude is offered. (And they, and I, we sure do know how to write a kick-ass cover letter or resume or grant application – because that’s sometimes that fits into the quiet and mouse-like category).

In looking back, these words from Quest2015 sum it up pretty well: I am repelled and repulsed by the idea of self-promotion, and I don’t know to what degree that holds me back from being missed. How much of that is fear of the spotlight; how much is lack-of-confidence in my ideas and writing and creativity; and how much is just my personality. If we want to be creative business people, there is a certain amount of self-selling and self-advertising and self-involvement that is part of the process, no? What is the line between sharing a genuine creative product and pushing an empty creative product that is more about you and a snazzy head shot and pretty website? Are we selling ourselves, or our creative work? (Man, that sounds snarky, and I apologize). I am so skeptical and afraid of selling myself.

That is the quiet (although obviously still pretty passionate and opinionated) me. Happy to wile away during the dark hours. Mostly content and most effective when I don’t have a goal, when my mind wanders, when I am making as a way of figuring. When I am lost in the work.

We’ll call that Mouse Me.

Mouse Me isn’t afraid of making her work public, she’s just incredibly afraid that in sharing or having an audience or crafting and creating with a certain purpose in mind – that she’ll lose the golden thread that keeps her head, hands and heart connected to each other and to the work. That she will lose track of the why, where, when and how that the good stuff comes out.

But there’s more than just Mouse Me who lives in this house, lit by the glow of burning midnight oil.

Used Car Salesman Self also lives on this rural farmstead. He is my alter ego. (Okay, I guess we should call her a she, but I just can’t, because I see a slightly rotund-in-the-belly man with greasy, tousled hair and a dark mustache, wearing a short sleeve, white, button down shirt when I imagine this self. Oh, and he has a donut. He is almost always eating a donut.) I’ve written about him before, but really – he is the part of me that is a 100%, fear-less, crowd-pleasing, success when given a microphone and a captive audience. (And – here is where the EGO-alarm in my brain sounds off and my shoulders tense up so much they almost eat my ears. Because, this is the part where I have to say that I am good at stuff. Or, where I at least think that I am good at stuff. Man, it’s so hard to talk about the stuff I think I am good at.) So, I’m just gonna say it. I can be really good when I live really big and loud and bold – and not just clickety-clacking away at the kitchen table on a Saturday night with one eye watching for mice. Just give me a microphone. Promise.

Gah. So what does this all mean? I’m not entirely sure. But here’s what I do know. The most reverberating words of Mr. Gilkey’s prompt?

p.s. You can’t stand out and fit in at the same time.

I think it’s a question that, as I type, may just turn into an answer. I’m not sure what I want to amplify. I do think that I want to figure out how to step out of the dark intentionally and consistently to find a more public voice for my creative self that still feels snuggle-y, brave, confident and – more than anything – authentic. How do I pick-out the best parts of Mouse Me and Use Car Salesman Self and knit them into a creative professional who is confident sharing and (gack) promoting her work in a meaningful way? What voice do I use for this sharing? How do I encourage Used Car Salesman Self to pick up the microphone a little more often? And how do I even make a teeny-tiny microphone for Mouse Me so she can sing in the dark kitchen and everyone can hear? (Oh, but dear god there will not be singing.)

How can I stand out in a way that isn’t stepping out in front of the crowd with a giant spotlight and sparkling red tap shoes, but more of a cool road sign that says Roadside Attraction Ahead for Curious Navel Gazers and Life-Figurers?

So, I guess the answer is two fold. The first isn’t what part of my work, but how do I actually want to amplify the work itself – by merging the strongest parts of myself into a coherent whole? (Not a donut hole.) The second part is about the work itself – how do I stand up and find more roles as storyteller, facilitator, speaker in my creative work – all the ways the Used Car Salesman shows up and really rocks it?


This (still slightly behind the pack answer) is to the Quest2016 prompt by productivity specialist & business advisor, CHARLIE GILKEY. He’s the brain and heart behind Productive Flourishing, best-selling author of The Small Business Life Cycle and driven to figure out how to help Creative Giants be their best selves in the world. Here’s his big question:

Which element of your best work do you most want to amplify this year? 

Instead of considering simply doing more work, take the time to consider which elements of your work would most light you up to amplify. What’s holding you back from amplifying it? Do you think it’s that obscure little thing no one will care about? Or is it that once you amplify it, people will care too much and call the Imposter or Weirdo Police?

There won’t be a time in the future where it’ll be easier to amplify that part of your work.

p.s. You can’t stand out and fit in at the same time.

 

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Heart Leaps, In Review

The Quest2015 is robust. Spilling over the sides of the tea cup. Walloping like a stormy wave hits the shore. Full and strong. These three posts vibrated, resonated, screamed to be shared. These gems were footnotes in the Goose Wake post, but deserve to truly float on their own. Enjoy.

I hate when I cry. My face gets all blotchy, nose gets snotty, eyes bloodshot. It’s not a pretty sight. I generally curse my tears, consider them a sign of weakness, of a heart too soft, too tender.

But what would my life be like without these harbingers of holiness, these wet heart leaps that signal tiny and great miracles, past memories, and anticipations of times to come?

These tears tell me to pay attention, to be surprised at all that is, and then they remind me to be grateful.

A tree with countless lights and infinitely more memories. A husband who listens while holding me close, and whose heart beats miraculously just inches beneath my cheek. Children grown beyond their school day braces and short hair cuts, one of whom who will becoming a mother herself in six weeks.

Tears, heart leaps, gratitude.  These all swirl together for me until I can’t separate one from the other. Silver, gold, white threads binding themselves together into a puddle of grace and love.  I don’t know how to arrange my life for more of this to happen. But I can begin to reframe my thinking about my seasons of melancholy with their accompanying tears, perhaps giving them more credit than I have in years past. Instead of looking away, perhaps I’ll follow to their tug and notice the gratitude instead.

[The amazing writing and honest thoughts of fellow Quester Ginny Taylor at Women of Wonder. You can read the rest of Heart Leaps, and you should.]

 

I am yearning for the other type of heart leap, the leap of beauty and awe rather than the leap of anxiety and fear. It’s funny how close fear and awe live in the body. And that’s appropriate really, isn’t it? Awe cracks us open to that which is bigger than us, to the unknown, to the mystery. And we’d better admit there is something fearsome in the mystery or we’ll have other things to worry about.

[From In Love & Awe, by Wendy Willis, on her blog by the same name. Wow, she writes elegantly about heart leaps as heart panics, anxiety. Her words are an inspiring balm.]

And then there is fellow Quester Brenna Layne, on her blog by the same name, who shares sweet words and a charming photo series in her introduction to the Quest2015. No preview here, you must click through to see her joyful image sharing.