Make Your Own Luck, Part II

Continuing on with our series (...saga?) about ways not to sabotage yourself, here's a novel idea: When you say or do something stupid, apologize sincerely and move on.  I know, I'm crazy like that. Whoa, mama! I believe in taking responsibility when I say something stupid and apologizing. But apparently I am crazy like that, because, just yesterday for example, I received an email from a certain crazy man who had previously cursed me to the high heavens for not returning his clippings. Now, that I had returned said clippings and apparently redeemed myself as a human, he emailed me again, not mentioning his un-medicated, un-scripted outburst, and proceeded to quote Shakespeare.

Well, I enjoy Shakespeare also... but I much prefer people who are somewhat stable adults; those are the people whom I am going to focus this business on. I worked with enough raging, moronic bi-polar types in TV news, thanks. I'm set.

Some of you are thinking, "Wow, it must be so wonderful to be perfect, Carlota, sorry I'm trying to make it here on Planet Earth!" Simma down, I never said I was perfect, nor wanted to be. Perfection tends to be very boring. I'm one, overly-sarcastic woman with not enough cats. In fact, just this week, I truly mortified myself by saying something highly offensive to a client. I experienced that level of mortification wherein time stops and you see slowly, oh so slowly, your life passing you by. (Note to self: This time, don't buy the Wham! Make It Big album. Just don't.) But I am an adult, so I apologized. Profusely. My client, being far more mature than me, accepted my apology in the most gracious way possible. I did NOT ignore it, or blame it on someone else or quote Chekhov. It's not Chekhov's fault, I behaved poorly. (True story: Russians of a certain generation will sarcastically invoke Pushkin to make a point, as in, "So who do you think is going to clean up this mess? Pushkin?! Pushkin's going to clean up your trash?")

Many people talk about achieving their goals, right? The inability or refusal to apologize after hurting other people can really derail your dreams. The world is very small. If you're going to be that kind of malicious douche, news gets around. I'm sure that crazy man who emailed me Shakespeare genuinely believes we're BFFs again and that soon we'll be hanging out, and all is well. Or, at least that's what he told himself. Me, I'm a simple girl and I don't lie to myself. Because that's the worst kind of sabotage.

Want some help achieving your goals? (You can quote Shakespeare to me, if that's what gets you going...) Email me @ carlotazee@gmail.com, and like my Facebook page, "Carlotaworldwide Creativity Yenta," for a free consult!

Love the one you're with: yourself!

I'm taking a break from networking, signing business deals (#likeaboss,son), giving The Kitten nubbins and, most importantly, this: http://youtu.be/ylJvzCJJVgc...to express my sadness that apparently so many people hate Valentine's Day. No me gusta. And before you assume that I'm 8, or that I woke to bouquets of roses and edible panties...meh, not so much. I woke to NPR because I'm sexy like that. In fact, I actually have had several serious boyfriends break up with me because of my inability to be romantic. What can I say: at heart, I'm an over-stimulated teenage boy, with a short attention span and I don't have time for romance! I have time to um (cough cough) get it on, and then baby, it's not me, it's you, you need to go so I can drink wine alone in the bed, in peace and quiet and watch true crime TV with the cats. Simple girl, simple pleasures.

On the other hand, before you judge me, considering my sketchy (at best), taste in men...this is not necessarily a bad thing. Otherwise, you'd be watching my misadventures on Prison Wives, for f**k's sake. And/or, Big Love...assuming I could be the main wife and sign off on all the other wives. Hmm. Note to self. (If you're reading this in Utah and you are tall, blond, hot and not allergic to cats...how you doin'? Email me!)

But, I digest.

My point being: Valentine's Day isn't the issue here. The issue is all the horsesh*t we put on Valentine's Day. The way we make people feel that to be single is the worst thing ever. The way we make people feel that having a "relationship" means you're not damaged, and that your life has meaning. The way we make people feel that it's okay to not want to figure themselves out, since that's terrifying, and they have a boyfriend/girlfriend so all is well, everything's cool, don't freak out.

 It's no longer a day to give some flowers and, hopefully, some hot sex to your steady sweetie(s), but a day to overcompensate. So if you're feeling crappy about aspects of your life, Valentine's Day can become a day to have the most amazing romantic experience, dammit, because if nothing else, at least you have a man/woman. At least you're not horribly and painfully alone...right? If nothing else, right, you're doing better than all those pathetic single people...even if you and your man have horrible sex...or you ignore each other the rest of the time...or you're bored by each other and you sext other people or you suspect he does...at least you're having a romantic dinner at Applebee's tonight.

Meanwhile, a lot of single people, instead of intelligently understanding that if you don't make room in your life for a real, loving relationship, if you keep recreating your previous mistakes and "dating" people who are not (emotionally) available...you shall stay single...a lot of single people are all, "Gawd, Valentine's Day sucks!"

I'm kind of exaggerating to make a point...and kind of not. If people could just shut out all the horsesh*t society puts on them--TO SELL roses, cards, chocolates, status--and accept themselves...well, then they'd probably only date/marry people who "get" them, who like to have sex with them, who make them laugh. We'd understand that being single can actually be amazing if you use that period(s) in your life to create a real relationship with yourself, so that when you eventually meet someone who gets you and who is worth your time...you recognize them, and you value them. Because you recognize and value yourself.

So when I say, "Love the one you're with"...yes, I mean love yourself...the one you'll always be with!

xo
C.

Don't Fear The Reaper

Actually, the title of this quickie post should be something like, "Don't Fear Success," but the song has been in my head, not sure why. I was thinking about the fear of success, in many different forms, since I'm re-reading, for the billionth time, one of my very favorite books, A Confederacy of Dunces, by John Kennedy Toole. Read it countless times, still makes me laugh out loud, still adore it. A boy I dated this summer had never read it, and when I raised my eyebrow in appalled disapproval, he said: "Oh, I always assumed it wasn't as good as the hype." Funny, because that's what I thought about him...
Anyway, if you're read the book, you know the tragic story of the author; that Toole wrote this masterwork when he was, approximately, in his late 20s, and then committed suicide at age 32. You know that his mother fought to get the book published. And that the book eventually won the Pulitzer Prize. That story always, no matter how many times I think about it, simultaneously breaks my heart, and renews my faith in humanity. It's an amazing story.
I personally think that Toole based his antihero, Ignatius J. Reilly, on some alternate-universe version of himself. (I have no evidence to back this up.) His rendering of Reilly, and the "tragedy at the heart of Ignatius's great gaseous rages and lunatic adventures," to quote Walker Percy's excellent forward, always seemed to me to come from some deep, interior place.
And while re-reading this book, I thought of how many of us, are sometimes more afraid of success than we may let on. That boy I mentioned earlier? A fine musician. He got some decent press, and created a website to promote his work...well, at least he said he did. In reality, he created a waste of space on the Internet, where people could, it is true, listen to his music, but there was no updated information about where to buy said music, or hear him perform. Details, right? Until I gently nagged the sh*t out of him, his profile picture was of...his shoes. (Deep breath.) Did I mention that this boy was quite handsome? (My vadge ain't no fool.) But yes, sure, put up a photo of your shoes, since sure, that'll sell the music by the truck-load...not that you apparently wish to sell your music. Oh, never mind. I should return to my home planet Earth anyway.
Meanwhile, he told me that I was afraid of success, since at that time, I was delaying doing the final formatting on my play. (It's since been done, and I'm in the process of getting it produced, thanks.) Here's the difference between us: I may have my issues with success. But I admit to them! I admit to my flaws, my fears and all that other delicious sh*t so I can get over them, and then do the hard, exhausting work necessary to bring my dreams to reality. What I don't do, is pretend that I have no fears, no issues...and then half-ass all the important stuff, the stuff that can bring my dreams to fruition, and later on wonder, "Hmm, why is nothing working out? Oh well, I've done everything I can, la la la."
John Kennedy Toole has his mother, Thelma, to take up his mantle, after his suicide, and make sure his talent saw the light of day. She fought damn hard to make that happen. But you and I would be better served fighting for ourselves, doing the difficult job right the first time, and not assuming anyone else will give a damn.
(And if you haven't yet read, A Confederacy of Dunces...seriously? Like a fine wine, it just gets better.)