Today, I am killing What-Ifs.

I started the week picking them of at a distance. Ping. Pyew. Pzam. Way off on the horizon I could see their little heads exploding. It took almost no effort. Zing. Zow. Their tiny silhouettes crumpled, silent, too far away to see clearly.

Today, they’re closer. They crawl up my shoe and I have to shake them off, kick them away so that I can get a good shot. They’re harder to hit now. Somehow, they move faster. Like zombies, you don’t want them to get too close. Each kill seems to require more effort, because they’re so close.

What if I can’t do it?

What if I’m not as good as I thought?

I take down three of them in a row, bam, bam, bam, and reload. I’m not carrying a gun. My best defense against What-Ifs is far more effective than any firearm, but it means better concentration and quick thinking. My weapon is action.

The fourth What-If is hanging onto my left ankle, rearing back and opening its ugly little mouth wide, getting ready to chow down. Its face is a hole in the universe. I can see its sharp, shiny little teeth. I aim. I fire.

Pow.

The mob drops away front of me, cut down like chaff. I erect new armor and protective barriers, those who have gone before me, reminding me that action is the course I must take. Johnny Truant. Charlie Gilkey. Tim Brownson. Eckhart Tolle. Seth Godin, and my Triiibe. Pages of compassionate accounts, ass-kicking enthusiasm, exploration of meaning, affectionate anecdotes, powerful inspirational passages like battle cries. I wash words across my face like war paint. Another What-If explodes in the distance, splattering darkness and despair like wet black dust.

I will destroy them all.

I’ve noticed that Seth gives one piece of advice in many different situations (though probably not exclusively). When he offers it for group projects, it goes a little bit like this: Set an imminent deadline. Shoot for a month or so—but don’t set it too far out, because the energy might lull.

I agree with him in most cases, most especially because I’m living it. I’ll put off this or that forever but when I set that deadline (or find that the deadline’s been set for me) a sudden three weeks away, everything shifts. I bust my ass into gear. I know I have to move to keep it on the rails, so I do.

If I were choosing a certain level of challenge for myself, I’d almost certainly choose the level just beneath that which creates great change in me. I always want it to be hard, but not too hard. And that, my friends, is the fatal flaw in my default settings, because the great change is what I’m craving. It’s only a matter of being brave enough and strong enough to face it head-on, instead of finding ways to mellow it out (just a little).

If I was not preparing for a vocal competition in Pittsburgh in three weeks, I would be under the gun. You may or may not have noticed, but somehow it’s been almost a year since Marty quit his day job, and things are moving faster around here than ever. Charlie Gilkey worked some productivity magic on my cashflow tracking system and suddenly everything is much clearer: What I want, what I need to do to get what I want, and how quickly I’d better do it. This is wonderful and terrifying and wonderful all in the same gulp. And without any singing at all, it would be incredibly challenging. Incredibly. Challenging.

But, well, I am competing in September and the days in front of me are dwindling. There is music to memorize (memorization! O, wicked task) and Welsh diction to refine, traveling to plan, clothes to buy, and maybe (if I’m lucky) seats to upgrade. And of course, the rest of my life doesn’t stop because I’m singing. My bills don’t have a pause button. My forward momentum in all of my projects doesn’t freeze-frame while I get my shit together. And there is no more safety net. The only thing between me and any month’s eviction notice is me. Either of these situations would be a challenge. Adding them together means that I’m enduring a true trial by fire (probably squared, or published in triplicate, or recited by quadruplets nine times a day for the rest of the year).

This means that I’m moving forward, and I’m in survival mode. There’s no time to think about whether I want to do the next thing on my list or not; there’s no time to argue with myself or speculate on the nature of the universe between to-do items. I’m just moving.

And in my customary bizarre fashion, I find I rather like it here.

Oh, I’d probably change it if I could (and you can argue that I can—of course I can, and I haven’t, and what does that say?). I’d probably adjust this piece and that piece and elongate the whole schedule and give myself more room to breathe. Maybe. But in all the great challenges I’ve come through, not one of them gave me that luxury. And I loved them for it.

Chances are, I’ll love this one too if I live through it. I do tend to live through it.

Stick around, and I’ll let you in on the ending. ;}

It’s been a whole weekend since I did That Scary Thing I Did, and I have to tell you… it doesn’t stop being scary just because it’s done. Probably because it isn’t actually done!

I often find myself under the delusion that forcing the good change will get it over with and then I won’t have to “suffer through it” anymore. Launch the damn thing, and I won’t have to do the launch anymore. But here’s the thing, folks: You can leap into the freezing lake, and you’re done leaping. Yes, the leap (launch) is over.

But you’re still in the freezing lake!

You either tough it out and get used to the temperature, or you freak out and wail back to shore to find a fluffy towel. And all your friends call you a big whiner. And since I am determined that there will be no wailing, and no shelter-seeking, I am going to enjoy this fucking lake.

I just need a few minutes, you know? After you stick with it awhile, you notice that the lake isn’t really that freezing. It’s actually pretty nice—cool, crisp. And I’m speculating here, because the lake still feels pretty freezing, but I think the water gets to be just lovely. And once that happens, I get to float on my back and feel the sun on my skin and look at the clear blue sky and the tops of the trees… and relax.

So bear with me while I’m getting there. Don’t mind that look on my face. I’m just getting used to the water. ;}

Why is the lake so freaking cold?

I guess I just never jumped into a lake before. Not this kind of lake.

For most of the years I was running my design firm, I was really intent on “doing it right”—which meant, I thought, pretending to be a Real Live Business With People In Suits and Secretaries and Maybe Even Cubicles. It was only later on in that decade when I realized that pretending was a stupid game, and I didn’t like it, and it made me miserable (even though running my own business, compared to working one of the commonly available food service jobs in Youngstown, made me very happy). Encounters with clients made me incredibly nervous during that time—when would they find out? What would they do? The rejection suspense was just ridiculous.

A lot of that stress fell away when I decided, hell with it, I’d be myself. As I built my new network (the right one) I was much happier working for myself as myself, working with people who liked me and were like me, and not worrying so much about being called out as some kind of fraud. But I was still restricting my official business to web and print design. I must have thought I had to. I must have thought no one would take me seriously if I didn’t have that label.

The universe doesn’t screw around, though, when you’re meant to do something (I suppose!). Over the next few years, I found myself doing a ton of work that really wasn’t web or print design—it was a lot more like idea design. I didn’t know what to call this or how to sell it, so I didn’t; I did it for friends, for myself, and I sometimes threw it into the mix with clients I felt comfortable with—but usually for free. It was only very recently, after expanding my network of friends to include the Triiibes community, that I let go of the need to have a label and started doing that idea design work for money. Who cared if it was weird and I didn’t know what to call it? I had happy clients, and people who loved me, and that was all that mattered.

Of course, you know the problem already. You can market labelless to friends who love you, but it’s pretty much impossible to market labelless to strangers or acquaintances. There was no moving up for me here unless I wanted to funnel a lot more energy into making friends. Which is cool—but man, I need downtime, too. I am not strictly an extrovert. I had a feeling that kind of hardcore networking was going to wear me out.

So I decided, once more, that I needed a label.

But I was done with boring labels. I was done with labels that didn’t properly encompass the scope of my playground. I know I’m supposed to “pick a thing”, but I’ve never wanted to “pick a thing”, even in college—Opera? Graphic design? Internet culture? Business-building? No, I’m not going to focus on one and drop the others, screw you people. Ah, my theme song.

And I did find that label, if that’s the right name for it. Sometimes I wonder if I actually found a calling.

So why is it so scary? I don’t get it.

Dude, I don’t get it either. I’ve been searching my soul for the answers this weekend, trying to understand the reluctance I had to move forward and the reluctance I still have to talk about it.

Why is it so scary?

You know… I was always really small-time.

In fact, especially after I dismantled Virtual Magpie and started doing my kind of business just as myself, I didn’t have a standard that anyone was trying to hold me to. No one could try to define me from outside me. They didn’t have anything to base a definition on, unless they’d read through most of my blog—and then, usually, they got it right.

It feels safe to be able to avoid definition that way. It feels safe because the only standards I stood by were my own, and I could do whatever I felt was right at the time and not worry about someone else looking at my setup and deciding I should be doing it differently. It was between me and my client. If they were happy, that’s all I cared about.

But now, something has changed.

I almost feel like this gives the rest of the world leverage.

What that means, I don’t know. I know that it makes me afraid. But I think that fear is borne of insecurity, of the idea that I’ll never survive being judged by someone other than myself—and that if I can keep things quiet enough that my only judge is myself, I’ll do okay.

Furthermore, I always knew that I was building Idea Blueprint Girl as a vehicle for me to do what I loved on a larger scale. Small-time wasn’t getting me where I wanted to go.

And oh, big-time is scary.

But there’s something else here, too.

I can help people much better this way. They can see what I do, and ask me to do it. They don’t have to depend on me to find them and suggest it. It gives them power and it gives me an easy way to connect with people who can use my help.

Funny how quickly the fear overwhelms our better impulses, you know? And silly. Because when I think about how much easier it will be to take on projects that help people, it gives me a thrill. Just a shiver that kind of runs up my spine, or makes my skin tingle. What could I do with this? How can I change the way things work? What new corners can I air out? What wonderful new people will I meet? What incredible projects can I put together? How will I make a difference for them? What will happen next?

Remembering how thrilling it is reminds me why I thought it up in the first place—and that thrill dissipates the fear.

Wow. Can we bottle that headspace?

What does happen next?

Geeze, you got me. I’m just winging this whole thing. It’s so easy to feel strong and confident about pushing someone else’s project forward. I can see it objectively and understand how all the pieces fit together. I’m not stalled or blinded by deep-seated emotional obstacles. I know how easy it is to make something work. When it’s mine, the path is a little fuzzier. But I can still see it, most of the time.

I think I’ll just keep moving forward, and the rest will take care of itself.

What do you think?

Do you know what’s terrifying?

THE WHOLE WORLD.

The whole world is a scary, horrible, terrifying place that gives no quarter in hours of stress. You can’t run away. You can’t hide. It is always out there, waiting for you. You are expected to just put up with it and be brave and be strong and so you put on a chirpy happy face and pretend everything is okay even though you are SHITTING YOURSELF in terror.

And there is nothing more terrifying than getting your fat measured by your svelte CrossFit coach on a Sunday afternoon.

NOTHING.

So I go to get my body composition measured because it’s happening today and I want to know if the measurements I took on my own were correct.

I’m pretty sure they weren’t, but I’m hoping they aren’t worse.

They can’t really be higher than I think they are, can they?

First I write down some goals (very nice goals, I think) and then we measure circumferences of limbs and things. I stand there and pretend it’s completely normal. La la la, nothing much, just getting my FAT MEASURED by my CrossFit coach! Ho hum, lazy Sunday afternoon, let’s see what my body fat percentage is today, I look over his shoulder as he writes it down, FORTY PERCENT?? There’s a plus sign, what does that plus sign mean? OVER FORTY PERCENT!?

Much higher than I thought. A part of me dies quietly of horror, and the rest of me makes pleasant conversation. “Ha ha, it was such a coincidence that you were doing body composition today, since I measured myself exactly a week ago and expected to do it again pretty much now,” ha ha, what SERENDIPITY! THAT’S SO FUNNY! Would you like more fat to measure? HERE’S MY BUTT, LET’S MEASURE THAT!

I was going to write this post a few weeks ago, when I started the instructional classes. I was going to write it then because, while I have maintained my internal composure excellently in the days leading up to CrossFit classes and in the spaces between them, I have rediscovered every single class how absolutely fundamentally terrifying it is for me to be there. Just to be there. And I finally wrote this post today because on the way home from measuring my body composition I remembered how very much I wanted to hyperventilate into a paper bag just thinking about it. Why, Megan? Why should this be terrifying?

Well… here’s the problem.

I don’t really believe I’m meant to be there.

I don’t really see myself as ever occupying the same universe Emily does, with her 125 pounds of muscle and 10% body fat. I can’t imagine how I can possibly belong at CrossFit. There is a small part of me who is waiting to be kicked out. “You can’t do these things,” they will say. “You’re not good enough. You’re different. You’re just not capable of them.” And I won’t be allowed to attend classes anymore. Maybe they won’t even refund my money! Because I’m not like them, not worth bothering with.

Every little indignity rubs the terror in, even though they haven’t kicked me out (yet, something says to me)—that I’m not like them, and not good enough. I needed to be in the beginners’ classes instead of the regular CrossFit classes. I can’t keep up with the run. I can’t do a fake, easy pushup. I run out of oxygen so fast when we’re doing anything. And apparently my body fat is ten percent higher than I thought it was. O GOD, the VIOLENCE done by NUMBERS!

Why is it that I think I’m “not like them”? Well, I’m just not capable of the things they’re capable of. I have to make excuses for myself—oh, I hurt myself easily. I can’t move that fast. I’ve never been able to do regular pushups. Whine, excuse, complain. Every time we learn something new, I actually have to STIFLE THE REFLEX to take someone aside and let them know that I need to do something different because I’m not like everyone else. I’m supposed to be an exception. A weaker exception. My whole life, I have made allowances for myself. It’s okay, you just can’t do what they’re doing. That doesn’t make you a bad person.

BUT IT DOES. IT DOES, it DOES make me a bad person. It makes me a bad person BECAUSE THOSE WERE ALL LIES!!

BIG FAT STINKING LIES!!

My whole life I’ve been lying to myself saying that I can’t be like that, I can’t be strong, I can’t be fast, I can’t feel good, I’ll never be able to climb a tree or run a race or fight evildoers with my bare fists, I have completely exempted myself from those categories, and I’ve been telling myself these LIES for SO MANY YEARS that NOW I FINALLY BELIEVE THEM. I believe them so powerfully that the very act of attending a CrossFit class—completely separate from the fear of being physically unattractive, of not being liked, of having spent money on the wrong solution—the very ACT of participating instills an enormous amount of terror just because I’m afraid I don’t belong there. Afraid that if they really knew who they were dealing with, they’d reject me out of hand. And wondering when they’ll find out, wondering how long I’ll last before they do. WHEN WILL THE OTHER SHOE DROP? Will they yell? Will they be disappointed? Will they be disgusted with themselves for not having seen it sooner?

How long before they realize I’m not capable and exile me to a special country for incapable people? How long? How long do I have? Because the incredibly perverse part of all of this is that with all of the effort, and the grunting and the sweating and the exhaustion and the struggle to have enough oxygen to breathe and the embarrassment of consistently being the very last person back from the 400 meter run, with 98% of visible participants slimmer or prettier than me, with Marty being insanely stronger and more conditioned than I am and better at all of it, even with everything else I’ve mentioned, with the sheer impossibility of ensuring my appearance when my hair is pinned up and my clothes are soaked in sweat…

With all of that…

All those things, the perverse part is…

I actually… LIKE IT.

I want to do it.

I don’t want them to kick me out. I don’t want them to tell me that they made a mistake, that I can’t really do this thing after all. I don’t want Em to IM me someday and say, You know, it might just be better if you did something else instead…

I am so afraid that someone will make me stop, when part of me is absolutely certain that I don’t deserve to keep going. And I like doing it so much I could CRY, because it scares the HELL out of me to go.

The world is like this.

The world is a fucking terrifying place with bad monsters and a perceived ability to hear all the negative thoughts in people’s heads when they look at you and situations that are hard and the frequent discovery that you’re worse than everyone else at the thing you thought you were good at.

The world is hard and scary and awful.

But you have to keep living there ANYWAY. You have to keep trying. You have to chip away at the thing, you have to change yourself. THIS is not an opportunity, this is not an obligation, this is a FACT. Opting out produces no results. No one can change you FOR you. You have to make the hard things happen because you’re obstinate enough to push and push and push until they do. You can’t just stop because something is scary. You have to be scarier. You have to be stronger and braver.

THAT is why I’ll go to every freaking CrossFit class. I will go five days a week as soon as they’ll let me in June, and I will love every minute of it. I will go to free workouts on Saturdays. I will voluntarily get my body fat measured and I will do it with a smile on my face, month after month after month. I will do the pushups I “can’t do” and I will run that 400 meters every time even if I’m way behind because that’s the only way for any of it to get better. Inside my head I will cry and scream and insist that I CAN’T and think of ways to trick them into letting me stay instead of making me leave, and I will sweat and pant and be afraid and keep going anyway.

Outside, I will look brave and determined and continue to do everything I’m supposed to do to get through this. I will keep going when it’s horrible, when it’s hard, when I can’t figure out how it ends, I have to keep going because NOTHING ELSE WILL GET ME THROUGH. Because the only alternative is to stop, and that’s no alternative at all.

Just wanting to feel better won’t make me strong. Pretending, lying to myself, won’t make me strong. Talking about it won’t make me strong. Being a pansy and getting away with less than my best won’t make me strong. Making excuses won’t make me strong. ONLY DOING IT WILL MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

So god help me, I’m going to do it.

Red-faced and terrified, I will conquer the world.

Embarrassment. Fear. Dread. Uh oh. What will happen if they find out?

You know, I used to feel this way all the time. I used to feel this way about every little thing under the sun. And you know what?

I still feel this way a lot.

But now I remember what it is, and what to do with it.

What I don’t do is act on that fear—on my good days. When I feel it, I try hard to listen so that I can confront the thing I’m afraid of. What? What was that? Afraid of what people will think if you don’t shave your legs today, huh? Terrified? Imagining what they’ll say about you? Creating pariah scenarios in your head?

Oh yeah, really?

Time to get rid of all the razors and see what actually happens.

(Would you like to hazard a guess as to whether anything actually happened?)

As important as unrepressing myself was to the direction my life has taken—to everything I do now and everything I want to be, and all the skills that are allowing me to move forward—I’m still afraid when I post something to do with sex. “Sex is bad,” something says. I will be rejected for being willing to discuss it in public, it says. But you know what? That rarely ever happens. (I just did it again yesterday in a spectacularly entertaining and ridiculous way, so I’ll let you know if I get any more fallout than usual. That is to say, none.)

The thing is, I really care about the public dialogue about sexuality, even if I don’t write about it often these days. So knowing that I fear that discussion is really frustrating for me. Knowing that, I want to confront it whenever I have the opportunity. I think it’s the right thing to do. I think our fears need to be confronted.

That’s how we grow.

It’s not just about sex. It’s not about dating, or marketing, or cold calls. It’s not about parties or chatrooms. It’s not about flying in planes or swimming in deep water or moving to Africa. It’s not about having fuzzy legs, either. It’s not about polyamory or veganism or making new friends or launching a new business or any one thing.

It’s about you. It’s about who you’re meant to be. It’s about the person you can grow into, the person you’re moving toward, the person that happens if nothing squelches you. You don’t set out to be squelched. You set out to be amazing. So why would you let anything get in your way?

Get rid of all the razors in the house, or start writing about the topics that scare you, or whatever else you have to do to confront that voice in your head. Hell—it might be the only thing you have standing between you and greatness. You’re not going to let that stop you.

Are you?

They tell you this when you get started, but most of the time it doesn’t sink in until later. It’s very exciting to strike out on your own—to do the thing that can’t be done, or to be one brave person in a sea of sheep. It’s incredibly empowering. There isn’t any feeling like it in the world. But sooner or later, this other thing happens—this not so great feeling thing.

Sometimes doing your own thing means feeling very scared and alone.

When you’re the only person who can get your rent paid, there isn’t anyone left to blame or appeal to or confide in. If you’re the person coming up with the ideas that allow you to do what you do, you have to keep coming up with the ideas—there isn’t someone to spell you and unless you plan well, there aren’t any vacations.

Unless you’re just stupidly lucky, your parents won’t swoop in and save the day. Or your aunt. Or your ex-boyfriend.

More than that, when you take the less-traveled path, very few people understand what you’re going through. It’s not just a matter of confiding; it’s a matter of another person knowing where you’re coming from, having actually been there themselves. Sometimes you have to push through by yourself, and man, it’s not easy.

But you have to have faith that you will get there—even when three weeks of income turns into one, and your support structure falls away. You have to have faith that this thing you’re doing is real and meaningful and worth it, that you have value and the world recognizes it (when you need it to do so now more than ever). You have to re-examine the details and turn out the cracks where you’ve made baseless assumptions and discover resources you’d forgotten. This is where the thin layers of fat get consumed, where you start to get stronger and come to know what kind of person you really are.

Can you do it? For real?

This is where you find out for sure.

This is a meme that bears repeating. Mac users close to my heart: Substitute Ctrl-Cmd-Power or hold down that power button—well, don’t actually; I’m just trying to exercise a little consideration. Anyway, you have to admit that Ctrl+Alt+Delete has a sort of ubiquitous grace…

Bob Poole made a great post yesterday about rebooting yourself.

What if there was a ctrl+alt+delete for our lives?

Would you be tempted to use the keys and reboot your life? Sound tempting? Maybe you’d do things differently. You’d stop wishing it were Friday – every day. And, you’d find a job or a career that you love.

Work and play would blend into life. If only there was such a set of keys.

His post was thought-provoking, and I immediately brought up a text document. “Make a list of your strengths,” he said, so I did. I wrote:

But when I came to the impossibility of failure part, I got stuck.

This may or may not be true—my perception is constantly changing—but I feel right now as if I accept most situations the way I would if failure was impossible. I base decisions on what I want, what feels right, and not so much a fear that the world won’t allow me to have what I work for. The circumstances I find myself in now—the amazing projects, the wonderful people, and freaking awesome opportunities—are all the result of leaving fear-based thinking behind. Marty’s Evil Empire is based on him having left his full-time job because we knew we could (must) succeed, and my progression towards taking only projects that inspire me is based on an intention to value happiness and meaning over money-for-misery, or convention.

I’m sure you can tell that I’m very proud of those decisions, but there is something missing. There is something in my way. What is it?

Only fear. Look at that list of strengths again. You’re a talented, strong person. Tell fear to get lost.

I have been rooting fear out of my life—I have conquered it in so many ways. I have become downright astonishing at standing my ground instead of running scared. I have continued to strengthen my fearless-decision-making muscles, and I exercise them every chance I get. So is it fear, still, that holds me back?

It might be.

It really might be—only in a different way than I’m used to seeing. And I simply may not be close enough to see the next step. Even if I haven’t gotten to a place in my life where fear doesn’t hold me back, it’s heartening to be able to imagine it, and see the measure of that growth.

I’ve speculated (often) that my biggest obstacle is lack of resources—money, manpower. But at the same time, if someone else came to me and told me they lacked resources, I would point to their brain and tell them to use that. “That’s all the resource you need,” I’d say, and I’d mean it. Perhaps I need to be just a little bit more clever.

Well, okay. I can do that.

So now it’s your turn. Take a look at Bob’s post, and start your own Ctrl+Alt+Delete file. What are your strengths? And what would you do if you couldn’t fail?

Just thinking about it is taking me into more uncharted territory. But oh, man. I love uncharted territory. ;}

Today I’ve been… here we go, are you ready for this word? Depressed.

Oof, man. I wasn’t ready for it either.

Today the second overwhelming “disaster” occurred in my already overwhelming schedule. It’s tempting to think of it as a test: Where’s your breaking point, Megan? Are you sure you want to do all these things? Because I have surprised myself by realizing that I’ve passed pre-November 15th activity levels and am somehow more involved in even more important undertakings… and in such a situation, when disaster strikes, my it strikes hard.

I hesitate to use the word “disaster”, because who knows why these things are happening—I am completely open to the awesomeness that will be my life when it all pans out and I can see what’s what. But for now, I admit it: Quite overwhelming! I finally came to my senses and Shiva‘d til my muscles felt like jelly (and my brain too)... and then I went to sit outside.

Outside, I had a few thoughts. Something about the cool air and the warm sun and the green leaves everywhere. I revelated. And I came back inside and pulled all the blinds way up to let more sunlight in and started ranting at Marty.

“This is our job,” I said to Marty. “This is what we do. We work at home, doing these things! There isn’t going to be any getting of jobs here. We’re not going to ‘give up’ and do something else instead. This is IT. This is what we’ve decided and this is what’s best for us!”

I started pacing the freaking room, and waving my arms around. Marty continued to work on his site, but he was listening. “This is us taking responsibility for our lives. This is the right thing to do! People give away their responsibility all the time, their job is responsible for getting them a paycheck for their rent and their groceries, if they get fired there’s nothing they can do, the government is responsible for giving them money while they look for new work, if the economy sucks then the economy sucks, there’s nothing to be done, but none of that is true! What about taking responsibility for our lives and make things happen by ourselves, taking responsibility for having the life we want to live without the luxury of blaming someone else if it doesn’t work out?”

It’s not all like that. TONS of people have jobs that they love and take responsibility for—and if those people lose their jobs, if “disaster” strikes, they make a decision about what to do next and they do it. But oh, my default setting is clear: I want someone to take care of me. I want someone to fix it and make it better. Don’t make ME do it.

I don’t buy that anymore, default setting or not, and you don’t have to either. Being in a difficult position doesn’t mean getting doomed and then running home to hide under the bed. Being in a difficult position means GROWING and learning to overcome difficult positions. Wait, stay calm… and let the realization come to you. Your brain is smart. It knows what to do, if you’re willing to listen instead of freaking out.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember, but it’s true. It got me through several bewildered moments in the last month or so, and it will get me through today and tomorrow and next week and the month after too.

All we need is a little perspective, right? It’s not really all going to hell, after all.

I guess this might sound crazy.

Marty and I are still scrambling to figure out how to pay December’s bills once it arrives. We don’t have anything set in stone yet—we don’t have any kind of safety net. Two huge projects are pretty much over, pending announcement, and I have more hanging on. And one or two of them are massively important, and will continue to require my full attention for… awhile. Some lengthy period of time. And there are going to be more.

I’ve been working… eighteen hour days. Yes. I’ve been working eighteen hour days. I get up at 5am and then I get to bed around 8:30 or 9. I work pretty much the whole day, though I take breaks for food (sometimes) and occasionally we put in a movie (though I never get very far into it before I’m back at my computer checking on something).

But I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier.

I just feel… Fulfilled. Valid. Real. Vital. Satisfied, and at the same time, still hungry. Not particularly stressed, not worn out—although there were certainly moments in the last three and a half weeks when I was pushing it. Mostly, I just feel good.

I’ve been practicing Shiva Nata every day, but not for quite as long as I’d like. My practice sessions have been getting longer, though, and that makes me happy (and anxious to find out what it will be like when I can do even more). Marty’s been doing push ups. Lots of push ups. We’ve been eating almost all fruit & vegetables because we found out that, even organic, they’re cheaper than what we used to have on our grocery bill. Way cheaper. We’ve had a learning curve for keeping produce in the fridge and making it last long enough to eat (instead of be forgotten about, and then thrown away). But it’s a neat learning curve.

We go out to eat once in a blue moon. We’re functional hermits, and we haven’t seen most of our friends in weeks (at least). We’re working harder than we’ve ever worked in our lives. It’s not that we don’t love our friends and want to spend time with them. It’s just that this is important, and feels… significant. In a way I can’t describe. This is what we are supposed to be doing, right now.

I know it sounds like I’m a good candidate for the nuthouse, but this is the best my life has felt so far. And it feels like it’s going to get better.

Today Marty and I talked about money, and how it’s scary to be pushing this thing when a “sane” person would have given up two weeks ago. I said, Anyone else would have stopped trying already. But if we’re brave and keep going, even when it’s scary, we’ll make it. Just because people don’t try doesn’t mean the prize isn’t there. It just means fewer people get to it.

And somehow I have no doubt in my mind that we’ll get there. I don’t know when I became this person. I don’t know when I became clear about the future of me. I don’t know when I started having this much faith in myself, and in those around me, and in the universe that turns on my axis.

I don’t know when it happened, but my god, it feels great.

In the last few weeks I found myself accidentally managing a hyooooge project.

Oops! How’d that happen?

I was putting in the requisite effort and was pleased to serve any role I seemed to fit. But that morphed somehow, and now I’ve found myself making a lot of decisions I’m not used to making. I’m incredibly pleased with how everything’s going, and as much as I have on my plate I am still enjoying the work, still determined to move forward and make it awesome, still powering ahead at high speed. But this project is a completely new kind of challenging for me, and in the best, most growth-inducing way possible… It’s uncomfortable. The really good kind of uncomfortable, but far more of it than I’m accustomed to!

I’m experiencing a bizarre phenomenon that I figure readers might benefit from, and I’m going to tell you about it. Ready?

I constantly find myself just dying to tell someone…

...That I don’t know what I’m doing.

I want to say, I’ve never ever done this before. I want to say, I haven’t a clue how to deal with a project like this.

I want to make sure the listener understands—beyond any doubt whatsoever—that it’s all been a matter of luck, rather than intelligence or expertise. Maybe, despite our reasonable success so far, I’m afraid I might fail… or maybe I really do think it’s all an accident, and has nothing to do with perception or skill.

My constant urge is to vomit my insecurities into the nearest friendly ear.

Yes. Turns your stomach, doesn’t it? Well, it should!

The truth is, I can see that better decisions might have been made—here, there, everywhere. But the project is still going well, and it’s still moving forward. I have repressed all but one incidence of verbal vomiting, which was private and probably not all that gross. I haven’t told another single person how magnificently unprepared I am for the job I am doing, until now. And now you know what’s going through my head.

But. Here’s the thing. Like any kind of performance, I’m not convinced it’s visible. I can tell you I was shakin’ in my boots when I gave my Toastmasters speech, but you might not have known until that moment that I was nervous at all. And I think I might be giving myself a bum rap. If I pause and give myself a little credit, I’m not so sure after all that I really don’t know what I’m doing.

I mean, I’m doing it. Whatever it is.

That’s something, right?