self worth

Authentic

au·then·tic adjective ə-ˈthen-tik, ȯ-

real or genuine

not copied or false

true and accurate
: true to one’s own personality, spirit, or character

How authentic are you willing to be? It’s my new obsession, but it can be tricky, because there are seemingly endless layers to authenticity.

I feel like I’m an open book, almost to a fault. I’ll tell anyone, anything they want to know about me. Have you read this blog? It horrifies my husband! In fact, my practice lately has been to dial down the TMI. 
Well…not on this page.

But is that authenticity?
Maybe because it’s easy for me, I’m gonna say no.
I’ll tell you with a laugh, that yes, I’ve farted in yoga; but I may not tell you the truth about your cheating-ass boyfriend, when you ask my opinion. Besides, when someone asks your opinion…they don’t REALLY want to know.

By definition, being true to yourself, accurate and genuine, are the hallmarks of being an authentic human being, but how do you navigate friendships, love relationships and jobs, when you’ve developed a permanent groove from habitually “biting your tongue”. 

I’m finding there’s an art to authenticity.
Expressing a truthful, but measured response.

Sometimes “No” IS a complete sentence; especially when elaborating could open Pandora’s box, or a can of whoop ass.
“It’s just not my thing” or “I’ve never been a fan of that” have saved my life.

I’ve been in retail sales all my life, and I made it a practice to NEVER lie to a customer just to make a sale. I know it pissed off my boss on numerous occasions, but again, if the earrings looked like shit, I steered them in another, sometimes less expensive, but more flattering direction. I know it was appreciated because they made a point to tell me so. A sales person who tells the truth is an anomaly, and it makes an impression.

Gently letting your best friend know that she’s too old to rock the leather mini skirt to the reunion, instead of being the kind of friend that just nods and gives a thumbs up, then turns her head and rolls her eyes. That’s SO not okay! And completely not authentic. A two second “wince” will save her hours of public humiliation, and having to see the pictures on Facebook for years to come. We MUST do this for each other, we MUST show up this way!

Here’s another layer: Our appearance…
In my obsession to live more authentically, I’m growing out all my blonde highlights, and I’m leaning into letting the whole thing finally be the color it’s been dying to be…grey.
I’ll still be getting a rockin’ haircut so I don’t look like Barbra Bush… I’m authentic, not crazy!

But how far am I willing to go with this?
Not concealing the dark under eye circles?
No false eyelashes!?!? 
No make up of any sort? (gasp).
What about nail polish? Spanx????? 
Is that authentic? Or just a cruel thing to do to the people that have to look at me everyday?

It’s kinda funny…or is it?
Are we just trying to “look our best”?
If we’re trying to look 30 when we’re 55, shouldn’t someone be giving us “the wince”?

Here’s my real struggle: Can I just let my chicken neck and my grandmothers hands, that are now at the end of MY arms, be the markers of my journey so far?
Can I /We be authentic enough to let our TRUE selves show up?
How would we be received by the world?
This is definitely a work in progress, so I’m thinking one small step at a time.

Here’s a sentence that goes to the heart of the matter and is really powerful:

IF I’M TRUELY MY AUTHENTIC SELF, WITH MY WARTS, FARTS, CHICKEN NECK, MY TRUTH TELLING, GOOFY, GREY HAIRED, MYSTICAL, PERFECTLY IMPERFECT SELF. AM I STILL LOVABLE?

I’ll leave you with that, talk amongst yourselves.

XoxJanet 

Once upon a time, when I had my store, a lot of people referred to it as a gallery, and I suppose it was, in the looseiest, gooseiest sense of the word.

I thought it would be a cool idea to feature up and coming local artists, and display them alongside all of the vintage doodads.

In the beginning, every three or four months, I would send out postcards, and invite friends and clients to an art “opening” with decent wine, toothpick skewered cheese and super-groovy music (usually the artist’s playlist, so, yeah, way groovier than my snoozy Spotify mix.)

One particularly talented artist whose style was very similar to Jean Michel Basquiat came close to selling out his entire show one opening night, he had become that popular! I took a chance, because I saw something special in his work, and lo and behold, so did a shit-ton of other people!

Damn! What a thrill!

Still, when I had my meet and greet with the artists, prior to scheduling a show, each and every one had NO idea what to charge for their work. They had even less of a clue as to what their costs had been in time and materials. They stared at me like I was explaining Quantum String Theory when I inquired about their time expenditure.

“How much time did this piece take?” I’d ask. “And what is your time worth?”
They had no freakin’ idea!
They kept no receipts for framing, or paint, or clay, or brushes, and for them, time just disappeared as they worked…so that was that.

Really? Well! I soon determined that was the sign of a good artist—but a lousy business person.

Seems you can’t have both in the same body, except for Damien Hirst.
He is an example of someone with both mad business and marketing skills along with talent, and that has driven his prices well into the six figures.

Everyone else has a more right-brain mentality. “Don’t bother me with the real world. I just want to create, I don’t want to keep a spreadsheet.”

If you become too practical, you’ll cut off your connection to the Muse.

Now, I totally get it!

It seems it is virtually impossible to balance your checkbook and paint a masterpiece.
Maybe it’s that right-brain, left-brain thing.

It’s a lot like studying theory and technique. If you get TOO polished, all your individuality goes flying out the window. You keep the tools that work, and discard the rest.

It’s often the creations made from breaking the rules that resonate the most with people.

What I must admit I have a knack for is looking at something and determining its value. The more unique the better!

Art can be tough. It’s poorly subjective. Appreciation lies in the eye of beholder. Nevertheless, every artist I featured had been in other small galleries around town, and I always got them double or triple their previous prices. It was always hardest in the beginning and then once things sold, their “value” was established.

That’s what gallery owners do, they help establish a value.

Now that I’m no longer involved in my previous “field of expertise” I’m noticing that I have the exact same problem my oh, so talented artists did.

Determining your own value? Fuck. It’s haaaaard.

So, you can imagine my chagrin as I add my name to that long list.
Now I’m a WE.
WE don’t know how to set our value,
or WE have a number in mind, but don’t have the balls to ask for it.
WE stare blankly into space when asked what WE think our time is worth.

Damn, I used to know!! Without hesitation! I didn’t have a masters in Art History, or a Harvard business degree. I just knew what I liked, and if I liked it, I knew other people would too.

That’s it! It’s always the same! Value is set by what someone will give as an exchange for the “service” provided, and it’s based on how it makes them feel.

I’m getting warmer…
Carry on,
Xox

In any situation, the best thing you can do is the right thing; the next best thing you can do is the wrong thing; the worst thing you can do is nothing.” 
– Theodore Roosevelt

I’m about to rat myself out.
To tell on, or tattle (as my mom used to say).
On myself.

It was definitely NOT my finest moment, but I learned something.

The other day, at my part time job I was asked to do something I consider menial.
I was sitting on the floor sorting papers to be filed (Nope, that’s not the menial part yet, if you can believe it), when I was interrupted by my boss with a request to get up and go run and feed the parking meters.

His car was right in front, the other car was a customer’s which was three blocks away—and across the street.

As I got up and took the credit card, everyone was joking about me going to “play chicken”.
Meaning, running across the busy street, dodging the cars. To feed meters.

First of all,
I’m 55 
I don’t RUN anywhere!

But that little request unleashed pure rage inside me!

I didn’t say a word, but I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone because I would burn their cornea’s with my rage—and I know they all felt it.

It was a beautiful day, so as fun as playing chicken sounded, I took the long way around using the crosswalk and I used that time to become an observer of my reaction.

Because…It felt really, really strong and highly inappropriate.

My job is not exactly toiling in the salt mines and in theory, my boss can ask me to do whatever needs to be done. My mind could rationalize it all away, but inside I was seething.

I just kept repeating to myself: 
“Chop Wood, Carry Water” an old Zen proverb, which means to find fulfillment in everyday tasks.

You’re probably thinking “what a brat” or worse. Well, don’t worry about it—So was I!! 
The list of names I was calling myself could make a sailor blush.
But you feel what you feel and I felt insulted and I HAD to pay attention to that.

Now, here’s where it gets dicey for me:
I’ve either run or owned a store for over 20 years, that is until recently when I lost my own.
I was lucky enough to be offered a part-time job at a friend’s, and I’ve been so grateful to get this work during these hard economic times that I work there for a fraction of what I’m worth, AND instead of being grateful for all of my expertise and years of experience in the field— I’m made to feel as if I’m at the bottom of the pecking order.

After over 25 years in the business, I file papers and I feed parking meters.
Huge, huge humility lesson.

So…I observed all those feelings of 
“Don’t you know who I am”? from the outside and recognized a recent stranger…my EGO.

“Oh…hello old friend, nice of you to come back and visit me,
Long time, no feel”!

Since my life got slam dunked in 2009 my ego has been replaced by my victim-hood.
Ego had skulked away to lick his wounds leaving me a shell of my former confident self.
I would never dream of saying “don’t you know who I am”? When I couldn’t even answer the question myself.

I’ve felt NO sense of worthiness or any feelings of accomplishment.
I’ve been behaving like the sad wad of gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe, or a beaten dog who is so incredibly grateful to be treated like shit.

So, by the end of my feed-the-meter walk, I had calmed down—and gotten reacquainted with my ego.

Ego has gotten a bad rap, 
After all, we all have one.
You don’t want to give it free rein and let it run your life unless you want to end up drunk, with no money in a foreign jail, with bad tattoos and blue hair.
But sometimes…it DOES come in handy.

Like reminding me of WHO I AM.

Just like that uncomfortable little whisper late at night that says “I think I could do better”
when you’re laying next to someone perfectly fine who’s just not a good fit.
That flush of rage was a reminder of the current disconnect. I do NOT want to be here.

So…I told it I was so happy it was back because I’m ready to have it help me stand a little taller, remember what I’m worth, and make help me forge an exit strategy while continuing to be the best Goddamn paper-filer and meter-feeder on the planet.