People pleaser

“You can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

While I was growing up I used to hear that phrase all the time from my dad.

What? What does that even mean?

This was his reaction to my teenage stress. After he’d watch me fumble and stumble, struggle and juggle; fitting in play rehearsal, singing practice, homework, and my part-time job, he’d admonish me, “Janet, you can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

My reaction was to roll my eyes, snap my gum, turn my head toward the heavens, and exhale the long, deep exhalation of the exasperated teenager. “Okaaaay, daAAAAaad, I get it, make a decision. Do one thing at a time. Gawd.”

I always knew the one thing he thought I should choose to focus on was my job at the supermarket. It could end up being my security, after all, my future, just like it had become his. But truth be told, that was NEVER gonna happen.

He had little patience for my “extracurricular” pursuits. He, as the father figure, the patriarch, the breadwinner, just couldn’t understand what he considered frivolous time wasting.

And I, cast as the dutiful daughter, continued to struggle with not enough asses.

Those extra things were far from superfluous to me, hardly! They were actually my life’s blood –– my passions.

He was unable to wrap his brain around multi-passionate people, and that never changed.
I can’t say that I blame him. Us multi-passionate sorts are hard to figure out.

He’s not alone, there are many out in this world that can’t stand those of us who won’t seem to commit to just one pursuit. “Jack of all trades, master of none” was another of his old school, paternal pontifications.

After a while (years), I understood. I didn’t like it and I was incapable of abiding by it –– but I understood his confusion.

He was from the school of one horse, one ass.

Pick one thing, focus on it, and do it— for the rest of your life.
Then, and only after you’ve collected your retirement, are you allowed to entertain frivolous pursuits. Hopefully, you still have your health, vitality, and a little sass to keep things interesting.

Many in our family died soon after they retired, without enjoying any of life’s extras.

Here’s what I’ve come to realize as I’ve gotten older and hopefully a little wiser.
The things that hold passion for us in life are hardly extras. To me, they are the makings of a life well lived.

Jobs can be had, money made, the focus narrowed, and direction figured out, but it’s the multiple horses that we have the audacity to ride with our one crazy, creative, freedom-seeking-ass, that make us who we are!

Singularly Focused Exemplary Employee is not what I’ve ever wanted written on my headstone.

Badass of sass, multi-passionate creative, who can’t stay in the saddle; sloppy rider of an entire herd of horses, who you may hear whooping and hollering and having one hell of a ride –– and the time of her life.  Now that’s more like it!

Ride all those horses with your one wild ass.

Own it.

Sorry dad.

Carry on,
Xox

So—Wowza and Holy Cowza you guys! The response to my video (my vlog, see I know the lingo), was so overwhelmingly positive! Honestly! You guys sent me the nicest texts and emails and left kind words on Facebook and the blog. I think I may have, hands down, the best readers EVER!

Thank you! I love and appreciate you more than I can say!

That being said, the one thing a lot of you mentioned, including my husband, was the fact that through most of the video my bangs went rogue and covered my right eye.
I have no idea why my hair decided to do that. It has a mind of its own and I’m lucky if it behaves itself and stays anywhere near my head at all! I have helicopter hair, remember? And I need a haircut.

Anyhow, I was thinking about my one-eyed talk on surrender and also about some feedback I received a while back about the way I dress for Yoga. No pastels, no flowers, no sheer floaty ethereal garb for moi. Nope. It’s all black for this girl. Hoods and jackets that hook on your thumbs; with zippers and vesty-crossover things.

I was told I came to Yoga dressed as a ninja.

So…I’m a one-eyed Ninja. You guys, I’m a Ninja Pirate!

I fucking love that! I’m owning that. Ha! I’m surrendering to that!

Which got me to thinking about being an individual, not following the crowd, wearing a grey-hair eye-patch; and being a pirate. I recently wrote a post about just that sort of thing: Be A Pirate.

Wanna be a Pirate with me? Too late. I already picture you all as my own special, rowdy, band of Ninja Pirates.

But here you go if you need the juju to get you started:

BE A PIRATE

An original doesn’t conform to expectations — they change them forever.

“It is better to be a pirate, than to be in the navy.”
~Steve Jobs

Being an original is not easy.
As Abraham says: “There is never a crowd on the leading edge.”

So for those of you starting a new, well…anything — listen up.

Unless you have a huge budget for sky writing, a Foo Fighters concert at your book signing, free Sprinkles cupcakes, and car giveaway; there may be crickets a first.

Seriously annoying nothing will happen. Day after day.

“I want the most unusual, badass store in the Valley, someplace with one-of-a-kind stuff that I would buy. Hey listen if I don’t do it two guys from West Hollywood will and I’ll go in there and feel bad as I hand over my American Express card again and again knowing that I had the idea first.”
~Famous Last Words

I remember days at my store where the phone never rang and no one came in. When I got home I had to clear my throat to speak like you do in the morning when you wake up because I hadn’t used my voice in over nine hours.

Your blog; book; store; talk; product or whatever, will need some back story to be understood, but don’t go overboard with that.
Keep it simple and come from the heart. Heart-Full people will eventually find you and the others, well, they can start their own tribe thank you very much.

Don’t spend too much time explaining yourself
Not to your friends, your wife or potential investors. As you attempt to get validation from the peanut gallery your brilliant creative ideas will get watered down by popular opinion.

If it was easy, made perfect sense, was a sure thing or a slam dunk — there’d be a line at your door and believe me — someone would have already thought of it.

You’re an original.
Original means new, never before attempted.
Uncharted, pirate infested waters. No map, and oftentimes not all the answers.
Jesus others, what part of original are you not getting?

New Mantra: 

People will not be able to pigeonhole you and they will hate that about you. They will also despise you for not conforming.
Happy, creative people doing what they love are annoying to others.

Others also get uncomfortable with square pegs in round holes and if the world is made of round holes and you decide you are a square peg — Grow a thick skin — and don’t say I didn’t warn you…it’s gonna get awkward.

The urge to conform will be seductive.
It will drunk-text you late at night and fill your head with lies.
At one point (or seven) in your endeavor it will convince you that you fucked up, it will beg you to come back to the fold for an easy ride — and it will be right. It would be easier to conform.
But you will die the very slow death of a thousand paper cuts. And we all know how much those fuckers hurt.

You can’t make everyone like you or that thing you’re doing.
Unless you’re Beyonce or Mother Theresa. It’s an impossible goal so give it up right now Goddamnit.

People will attempt to copy you. Don’t worry about it.
They aren’t you so it will be a lousy karaoke version of your concept. And since it wasn’t their passion, their up in the middle of the night writing new ideas burning desire — they’ll get bored during the crickets phase and drop it.

Imitation has absolutely NO stamina.

Go ahead and exceed what people expect from you — but not to make a point.
Just give your creativity an outlet. Let it flow. Like blood. All over the place.

I post everyday. That smokes most bloggers. I do it because I love it. And I didn’t know any better when i started.
Listen, if it was expected of me I know I’d say, “fuck it”.
Many others have given me permission to cut back and some days I do, but I have already exceeded what was expected and as a result that created consistency, trust, and then relationships followed.

You’ve gotta show up. Day in and day out.
When I’m walking around and I stumble upon some cool new shop or cafe that is beckoning me to enter, I can never understand why in God’s name, in the middle of the day, they are CLOSED.
No sign, no hours posted, no nothing.
I don’t care how cutting edge and original you are — show the fuck up. Be open, be accessible, so I can share in you’re awesomeness.

You may fail. Like big time, skid marks on you face fail.
Think Steve Jobs being fired from his own company. You may taste public humiliation. It’s a bitter pill but you will survive, and most likely flourish.

In closing:
Try not to be an arrogant dick.
Again think Steve Jobs. He was revered — but not well liked — and I know I said people may not like you but when they fire you from your own company…

Often nonconformists have absolutely zero social skills. Mark Zuckerberg for example.
Listen, develop some, break that mold too.
Be kind to others, crack a smile, have some fun.

Be a kind, fun-loving pirate. Think Captain Jack Sparrow — or Sir Richard Branson.

Carry on my square peg pirates,
xox

I remember a photo shoot back in my acting days. I had saved enough money, and I was lucky enough to book the guy for commercial head shots.

You know head shots – they are close-up photos of your face taken from the shoulders up. Big smile, sad frown, head tilted, hand to chin for a curious expression—you get the idea. It gives all the powers-that-be an idea of your “range”.

“Oh look, she can smile AND be sad, what a range! She’s amaaaazing, bring her to me!”

This guy was only about five years older than I was at the time so, under thirty, and was probably born in Toledo Ohio, but he thought he was Francesco Scavullo (look him up), with the faux accent and orange tan.

“Gorgeous dahling…head up…beautiful…chin down…stunning!”

His approval washed over me like a warm wave of maple syrupy love.
I felt beautiful. Like a high-fashion glamazon at the top of her game, that is until…(screech of a needle across a vinyl record. What? You’re too young to know what that sounds like? Get off my blog!)

“Dahling” he was now eyeballing me up and down, no more camera, with one hand on his hip, another lifted to his chin, eyes squinted. I was still blinded by the flash so I’m sure I looked daft.

“Oh you know what I wish more than anything?” he asked, never waiting for me to answer.

“Oh, how I wish your legs were just four inches longer.”

What? You wish that more than anything? Really? More than world peace or a penis that was four inches longer? Are you sure? Do you want to rethink that statement? I think you misspoke.

And you do remember this is a head shot? At least that’s what I thought silently in my head.

“Um, you know that’s impossible, right?” I stammered, tears welling in my eyes, the blind and daffy smile now wiped completely from my face.

I started to feel like a troll. A two foot tall, horrendously ugly troll. One minute I’m Cindy Crawford,the next I’m looking for a bridge to guard.

I was a pleaser back then, and I wanted nothing more than to make him happy, AND I wanted the warm and gooey love wash to continue into perpetuity.

“Maybe I can stand differently, or put on a higher pair of heels?” I inquired awkwardly. Desperation was seeping in.

He kind of huffed a disappointed sigh, “No dahling” he cooed in his make-believe accent, “you’ll always be too short.”

For what? Too short for what? I’m 5’5”…
Professional basketball?
Picking fruit off the tops of trees?
Thigh-high boot modeling?

I knew right then that the fake little fucker was full of shit—but it still stung.

Not always the most well-intentioned people wanting the impossible from us.

I recently helped some extended family with a home design job.
I thought those days were over for me but they needed some help preparing a rental from scratch, I can do that sort of thing in my sleep, and I welcomed the distraction.

The thing was, the budget took a hit almost immediately. Cut by half. And it was…frugal to begin with.

An entire three bedroom house, from beds and mattresses, to the utensils, toothbrush holders, towels, sheets and all the kitchen stuff for ten thousand dollars.

You can cut corners when it’s your own home, but if you want to ask top dollar for a home in a high-end neighborhood, it requires certain things.

Like a decent coffee maker and a nice bar-b-que, comfortable patio furniture and three high-definition T.V.’s

I practically slept at Ikea, Target, and Homegoods. Sourcing and searching, driving, shopping, and returning.

My people are academics (which is why they needed help), and I could see the toll the stress of a home make-over was taking on them.

They hadn’t put together a house from scratch, well…ever. Just like most of us, when they started out they had a mix and match combination of wedding presents and hand-me-downs.

Here’s what I knew: I knew the task was impossible.
I knew we could get close, but in the end I knew we’d have to ask the purse string holders for more money.
I also knew that at that point we’d be in so deep — they couldn’t refuse. We’d have to finish.

Oh, did I fail to mention we had a deadline. Three weeks.
So everything had to be cash and carry. No special orders, no four-week turn arounds for the size or color we needed. Like I said IMPOSSIBLE task.

But you know what? They didn’t know that. At least not until I told them.
They had been feeling so incompetent, so shitty about their ability to stay in the budget—it was as if they had been asked to become four inches taller.

“Um, you guys know what we’ve been asked to do is an impossible task, right?” I interrupted another extremely tense phone conversation, grabbing the telephone and holding it close so the three of us could talk.

“Guys, you haven’t done this as much as I have.” I was trying to sound reassuring.“They gave us a completely unrealistic budget, which we will exceed…but not by much, and we should all be very proud of ourselves.”

Then I walked away with the phone in order to get through to the rocket scientist of the trio — the one who’s head was ready to explode from having to deal with family money, design by committee dynamics, and too many white paint color choices, (it really is absurd —there are over five hundred different shades of white).

“Listen,” I said in the calmest tone of voice I could muster. “Imagine being given an unsolvable math equation.”

“There are no unsolvable equations, Einstein said…”

I interrupted. “Humor me goddammit.” he went silent.

“The reason we can’t make this work isn’t because we’re stupid, or we suck — it’s because the problem is unsolvable — you absolutely cannot do what is required by the rental agency for that amount of money.
The. End.”

He was still quiet, I kept talking, hoping he hadn’t succumbed to a brain hemorrhage.

“We all have to chill out and keep going. We’re almost at the finish line. Besides, we can’t grow taller than we already are.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Don’t you like knowing that? That the request is flawed — not you?”


“Sure, I guess… I mean, I figured if they told us ten thousand, it must be doable.”

“They might as well have said ten dollars.” I could hear him get that.

“Ohhhhhh, so you mean…”

“YES!” I screamed excitedly into the phone, “Exactly! So stop stressing!”

Not always the most well-intentioned people wanting the impossible from us = Stress, despair, unhappiness.

Figuring out they’re full of shit = PRICELESS.

Carry on my loves,
xox

The other night in our awesome Wednesday Women’s group, we talked about being people pleasers and what a dead end street that is.
To be a people pleaser you have to care what other people think. It has to matter to you. A lot. Maybe even enough to alter your behavior, and stifle your badassery.

Everyone is a people pleaser to some degree, no one is immune.
Although, everyone last night has noticed that not all the young people these days are drinking the kool aid. They may do what you want; but they let you know they’re not happy about it. My nephew will NOT be held accountable for my sister’s happiness. He will not sacrifice one iota of “who he is” to be someone she’d like him to be. She loves that….and it bothers her. We want our people to care what we think of them.

He’s a lot like me. My lack of caring what most people thought of me, especially when I was younger, was labeled selfish and conceited. I have never been run of the mill. Shocking, I know. They wanted compliance. It was a constant battle. It’s a different time now. Hallelujah.

When I was a kid and someone said something mean about me, my mom would advise me to: Consider the source. Oh…like step out of my hurt feelings and size up the culprit?
That was genius, and I do it to this day. I highly recommended it to my Wednesday women.
If someone criticizes you or asks you to do something you really don’t want to do, who is that person? What’s their motivation? To control you? To put conditions on their love?
Uh oh…that’s a big one.

What I began to notice over and over again is that they are usually the “un-pleasable” that live among us. No matter how many thank you notes you send, phone calls you make, cupcakes you bake, bridal showers you throw or airport pick ups you do, it’s never enough. You will be tap dancing as fast as you can to THEIR music, and it’s still never right.
So why bother.
I’d rather be happy.
I don’t give a rat’s ass what they wish I’d do or say or be.
It’s very liberating. It’s not easy. There will be name calling.
Oh well.

I DO care what some people think.
There is a core group that I’ve formed and you can too. My group is small.
They are vetted, trusted comrades. They love me and offer constructive criticism and the truth. They have soft eyes and a loving tone when they tell me what they think. Even if it’s harsh. They get my badassery and they’re not looking to change me. THOSE are the people whose opinions I seek and cherish.
The peanut gallery can go to hell. 

If you want to be truly happy, and live a big, amazing life, I suggest you stop looking for other people’s approval. You will never write a blog or do musical theatre if you care. There will always be those that tell you you’re not doing it right.
Consider the source. Is that person an exemplary example of all that you want to be? Probably not. Those people don’t deliver their message that way.
Stop looking around and consider the source. You can quote me on that.

Xox Janet

Were you or have you ever been a people pleaser? Does this push a button?
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