unwreckless abandon

for Anne

"Take what's yours and leave the rest."

She said as I had just given a frustrated groan about the inaccessibility of The Kind Diet, a vegan lifestyle book whose recipes touted Japanese sea vegetables and umeboshi plum paste. I mean, I lived in the most accessible city in the world--New York, and I had no idea where I was supposed to buy a sunchoke in December.

Something about the line she uttered stunned me enough to shut me up. I have since used it as a sort of mantra to decide what goes on my plate through the buffet, what to feel when I listen to a TedTalk that makes grandiose claims, at a girlfriend's "shop 'n' swap," a social gathering where we bring items we no longer want in our closets and pick out something 'new,' if only to us. I have found comfort in this statement. Understanding what feels right about claiming ownership over a "thing" or "things" makes it easier to dissociate from the entire entity. You are leaving, but not without a piece of it--your piece. In this way, it is much easier to understand what to leave. It is much more difficult to know when to leave.

The truth is, we leave all the time. Everything is abandoned. And that is OK. Or maybe it just is. Side note, I just finished the Power of Now by Eckhard Tolle, so my thinking has been esoteric as of recently. We abandon the remainder of a rich dessert after a fully satisfying meal, the winter for a trip to more tropical climates, and we abandon our carts, to the dismay of e-tailers everywhere. We abandon our work everyday. True, there is a difference between hitting send on the last e-mail and packing up for the day so as to beat rush hour traffic and stepping away for the last time from a project you have been toiling at for months or years. Abandon can be extremely painful. It can mean failure, and often does. If you leave before you get what you came for, then yeah, it can really suck--the opposite of success. I used to think success was hitting a milestone, a benchmark--getting an accolade of some sort. I have recently asked others about their definition of success, and that was not an uncommon answer. However, to people to aspire to embark on creative pursuits, we must understand that abandon is inevitable. Eventually, the writer relaxes her knuckles from their poise on the keyboard, the painter pulls her brush away from the canvas. It often feels undone. But it may be helpful to ask yourself when in the midst of a project or a piece--do I have I all I need here without continuing or is there more I can offer? Can I learn anything else here? If we are not continuing to learn, it is likely we should leave.

fear

#100DaysofBurningMyFears by @brandwriter

This should be an easy one to start with.

I'm writing again. Daily. And I have put things in place to help me not pilfer off again like I always have, but I am sure that I will. And maybe that is OK. The fear, Elizabeth Gilbert says, is boring. It is innately human. There is nothing unique about fear. But fear comes in flavors. And that tastes interesting to me. For 100 days, my friend Brian burned his fears into wooden coasters and they were absolutely fascinating. He would write things like "I'm afraid I'm not satisfying my wife." and "I'm afraid that I won't be able to buy my daughters a car or pay their tuition but also that they'll grow up feeling entitled if I do." And then he burned them in a beautiful bonfire in front of his friends and family. 

So here goes, for the next few minutes while I still have quite a bit of space and my wrists already feel carpul-tunnelly. 

I'm afraid I'll quit like I quit everything.

I'm afraid I'll never speak on a TED stage.

I'm afraid I won't be writing.

I'm afraid it won't be interesting enough to anyone.

I'm afraid not of losing the love of the man I love, but that he never loved me to begin with.

I'm afraid I can not take discomfort for suspended periods of time without losing sanity.

I'm afraid I'll look fat in the photo.

I'm afraid of being inconsistent--I'm afraid it is not worth doing if I can't do it regularly and with great quality.

I'm afraid my friends and family think I talk too much about myself.

I'm scared I could be doing more to help homeless people when it is cold outside because I know I could be.

I'm afraid my boyfriend will resent me for not pursuing my passions to the fullest.

I'm terrified I'll never be anyone's "one."

I'm scared I'll embark on my Polyama Project and that I'll never uncover anything new or unique to say.

I'm afraid no one will ever pay for anything that I have to offer. 

I'm scared that if I spent less time on my looks, that no one will think I am beautiful, including me.

I'm scared that if I'm not beautiful, that my confidence will suffer.

I'm scared that if my confidence suffers that no one else will believe the lies I tell myself.

I'm scared I'll never live in a place where my family lives and I will miss out on having those relationships.

I'm scared of money--looking at it, understanding where it goes, giving the correct change back, having enough.

I'm scared I'll never make anything that means anything to anyone but me.

I'm scared I won't be relevant. 

I'm afraid the people who say they love me don't understand or want to know my work.

I'm afraid if I put time into it and it does not work that it will be for nothing.

I'm afraid I'll never find a creative collaborator to embark on a project with.

I'm scared I'll never be a 'thought-leader.'

What to Know Before You Move to a New City

Lessons from my first 100 days in Austin, Texas.

I was in a sling at the bus stop outside the emergency room when I got the call.

“Alison, it’s Erin,” my recruiter’s voice on the other end. She had news.

“They really liked you but thought you were ‘too creative’ for the role…I’m sorry…”

I squinted and turned away from the rays of the hot Texas sun and leaned against the warm, softly jagged cement. I thanked her for going to bat for me for the past month. She sheepishly expressed honest concern that I enjoy my weekend and I glanced down at my $1500 confederacy-blue sling with adjustable velcro that came with a free x-ray and Percocet sample. If there was ever a bench built for bus commuters, it should be outside the hospital.

“It’s the price you pay for the life you choose.”

The quote above was framed in a cafe I stumbled upon when I was wandering around London for the week that my flight (and 20K others) got re-routed returning home from a 6-week study abroad program in Paris. I could never get it out of my mind and it tends to be relevant in so many situations.

I ended up at the hospital bus stop expensively sprained and rejected that Friday afternoon because I had taken a chance…

“I’m New Here. Like Everyone Else.”

Says the tagline in my Hinge profile.

Austin’s got the rep of being the smallest big city in the US. Forbes names it as the #2 of the fastest growing cities for 2015, with half of the households being non-familial, so I was in good company. And just like the kind of human I was looking to be my partner someday, I was looking for the most interesting, humble place with a sunny disposition and room to grow.

I loved New York. Let me repeat. I LOVED NEW YORK. The tumultuous city living, the late nights, the holes-in-the-walls, the penthouse parties, the energy the closeness, the daily random observations, the momentum, the electric osmosis. But I hit a point where the walls were too close, I wanted space to breathe, I wanted movement and newness, and personal connection. But the movement felt more like a schlep, the newness exhausting, the connections to be more surface tablet touching, and the bright lights and noise, well, those that read me know how I feel about the sirens…

The ‘Cata-List’

I needed a change. Here’s what I knew I wanted:

• a city
• space (think CLOSETS)
• active creative communities
• warm
• bike-friendly
• just friendly in general
• lower cost of living than NYC
• no more than 1 other roommate
• somewhere I could eventually buy my own place

Get Out There

I visited Austin for 5 days over Halloween 2015 before I decided to move here. I met Hulk Hogan at Handlebar — a bar that only employs men with mustaches. Everyone accepts this down here as perfectly PC, although I would have really liked to see a female mustachioed mixologist as long as it was realistic-looking. Hulk (his DJ dance-party stage name for the evening), gave us a bike tour of Lady Bird Lake the next day and drove me to all of my favorite street-art destinations. He was my first Austin friend and he worked for Facebook, so I knew he had a few friends of his own.

After many street tacos, late-night walks home through oddly clean alley ways, 4 different rounds of buck hunter, getting a runner-up award for my Bloody Mary costume at 11AM, getting turned away from the Driskill because of said costume eleven hours later, Whole Foods breakfast tacos, half-drank Lonestars, and the exhilarating joy of discovering a Thai restaurant inspired by its kitchy graffiti and who shall forever remain pun-named….

I was ready to call Austin my new home. Nevermind that one’s tourist life resembles real day-to-day as closely as a comedian’s bit onstage adheres to its subject’s factual-based coverage in the Times.

I never drink that much, I knew nearly nothing outside of downtown, and the only people I knew were Hulk, my friend in the MBA program at UT, her cat, and my glamourous friend in PR, a fellow ex-New Yorker who I studied abroad with in college and who I had dinner with and fell back in love like we did in Paris all those years ago.

This might be obvious, but do a site visit. And don’t just do tourist shit, do things you would normally do — visit coffee shops, take the public transit or get around how you normally would on a day-to-day basis.

Oh, and use this cost-of-living calculator by BankRate to see how you stack up in your new city. I just discovered this and it’s pretty rad.

As I met them, I asked people (and yes, Hinge dates) what they loved about their neighborhoods and what their commute looked like. I was determined to hold off on buying a car as long as possible (and I’m still holding strong), so location was key.

It’s Not How Many You Know, It’s Who You Know

People said, “Oh you’re so ballsy, moving to a new city where you hardly know anyone.”

Me: “If I did it in New York and survived, I can do it anywhere…” What I mean is I could do it in any first-world city where survival is implied and referred to in a lesser-known high sub-level “The Hustle” on Maslow’s hierarchy, where the majority of the people I would share air with regularly use LinkedIn.

Once thought to be a part of Esteem, ‘The Hustle’ is now it’s own Maslow sub-hierarchy.

A lesser-known hierarchy on Maslow's pyramid--the Hustle.

I chose a city where it was notoriously cool to be weird. Most people here look like they could be in my extended family — tall, white and fair, super-American-features minus the pot-belly, but most likely with pot in their pockets. Actually the lack of diversity kind of bothers me, but just like that ‘weird mouth thing’ after the 5th Hinge date and Hoda’s spanx on GMA, inevitably these things tend to reveal themselves as the honeymoon phase wears off.

So I guess in hindsight, it was pretty ballsy, and I didn’t fully believe it until I moved here. Thankfully, Hulk, Brett, and Cara turned out to be three great people to know. I stayed at Brett and Cara’s places the first couple weeks here and they both lived in great locations that made it easy to get around without a car. I knew I’d meet more of my kind of people if I started doing the things that I enjoyed and asking people as I went along where to go for meeting other people that biked, did yoga, and rock-climbed; freelanced, geeked out over lettering, puns, graffiti art, and personal and professional growth gurus. This required me to make consistant effort to pursue interests that I liked enough to do by myself, instead of saying yes to calendar commitments I was not otherwise exhilarated by. I leapt at the opportunity to be an organizer with Creative Mornings Austin, whose fellow organizers and attendees are all sharp, have-their-shit-together, badass creatives. My new roommate introduced me to a cool new bouldering gym called Austin Bouldering Project that was in biking distance from us and offered yoga and coworking too. At twice the size and half the price of a Brooklyn Boulders membership. WOOP!

Have a BHAG on You

Shoutout to my good friend, Rosey, native Austinite for intro’ing me to the Big Hairy Audacious Goal concept…and the checkout gal at H.E.B. for not charging me the first time buying groceries being empty-handed and ignorant to the concept of Bring Your Own Bag.

My goal was to have a job and a place to live by SXSW 2016 (March 11–20, 2016). Ninety days. I made that goal, but barely. I thankfully found my apartment, er I mean house on Craig’s List — a nightmare if you don’t know the neighborhoods or have a car and it was exactly what I was looking for (thankfully now there is Roomi and highly recommended for anyone moving and looking for an outlet — plug plug plug Ajay Yadav).

I literally got my offer while drunk on overpriced cocktails on the Four Seasons lawn after having met a bunch of my NYC startup friends in for Week 1 of SXSW Innovation. I did not think I was going to get this job as Employee #1 of a new half-built coworking concept and venture, so it was a huge relief and a big win.

I had no idea it was going to take this long.

It takes a lot longer than you think…

1. to find and get settled into your place (i.e., get shit off the floor so you can walk)

2. to find a job

3. to find friends

Other important items to note:

• you will forget important dates like showers and birthdays of new babies, to send a gift for important life-events (I mean where the f is the post office around here anyway?) because you will be in bubble-mode. I’m so sorry Brian and Meghan ’n’ John respectively…your wedding and incoming baby is really important and I swear I’ll get my shit together and ship something to you after I get that (second) paycheck. Not that you’re noticing cause you’ve got amazing life-things happening but still…
• You will remember what you suck at. Like home improvement. The only things I like about home improvement are the sexy entendres and the smell of Home Depot. But I had more time than money so I spent the former on dating sites to find men that can build things in exchange for me wearing tight lounge-wear and making one of 3 recipes that would forever exile me from friend-zone. This is easier to do in Texas where they’re adept at ‘men-things.’ (One time I dated a Milanese engineer in Manhattan that put my Elfa shelving up crooked. He was a lot more interesting than most of the men you can find outside NYC, but that shit would just not fly here in Texas…)
• You will go a little crazy. Offset the crazy by being kind to your body, mind, and others every day. Moving my body and quieting my mind, and petting my roommate’s dog, Dozer, daily eased my anxiety and aided in maintaining my optimism in the toughest moments.
• You will start asking for things again. What a fricken relief! All those intro’s I made that led to 2 marriages, 12 jobs, 6 mentorships, 25 speaking opportunities, 2 major press mentions and 1 seed-size investment are finally paying karma dividends…Ask for introductions. (write a blurb you can easily copy and paste into an e-mail body so all they have to do is change the names and send.) Ask for great ‘hidden gems’ suggestions and star them on Google maps. Ask someone you admire or think is cute out for coffee. And when you get that new role, ask for $15K more. (Anna Marie Clifton can help you there on both of those last points.)
• You will say yes to random adventures that may end in injury…

Obligatory #sympathyselfie with the $1500 sling.

I was seeking to make friends with other cyclists and several people mentioned I check out the Thursday Night Social Ride — an extremely Austintacious, decade-old tradition. If the Tour de France, Hells Angels, and a UT Tailgate had a threesome every week, that’s TNSR. I was rolling along quite smoothly keeping pace with the guys that were blasting “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough” out of duct-taped speakers and pulled up to a cute girl with some badass biking threads. I was just about to ask where she got her pullover when a white flash darted in front of my tire — I hit it and fell hard right on my side. “BIKER DOWN!” I hear as a deluge of cyclists whizz past me. I quickly, awkwardly pulled myself to the side.

“Did I kill something?!” A good samaritan cyclist had slowed his roll and peered past a fenced-in yard.

“No, it kept going. You probably just hit its tail.”

‘It’ being a cat.

The gravitas of taking a big, exciting leap is that gravity will inevitably kick in. And if you don’t land standing, you’ll have a better story. I’m fairly convinced that not even felines land on their feet every time, although I’m starting to believe in the nine-lives myth. I’d like to think he sacrificed one of his so I could start mine here in Austin with a tale to tell.

Have you taken a leap to a new city or considering it? IS IT AUSTIN? Tweet me @alisonperrie.

*Originally posted on Medium. Follow me here for more creative transitioner stuff.*

What to Expect on your 100 Day Journey

So you decided you want to do something every day for 100 days.

(And if you’re curious as to WHY you or anyone would want to do this, click here.)

Awesome! Good for you! and at the same time, woopty-fricken-do. Life’s gonna happen. And I’m gonna try some scare tactics and to enjoy cooled corn tortillas for the 1000th time and we’re both gonna have a weird texture in our mouths.

No, but seriously, I lay these out ’cause it’s stuff no one told me when I embarked on my project, #100DaysOfCopyThat, and it would have been nice to know what to expect and ways to fight the Resistaaahnce (aka the forces that will inevitably try and derail your progress.) So below are the top 4 issues that will surface as you sketch superheroes / write cryptic anonymous love notes / make gluten-free food art / etc. (We’ll get into finding your 100-day-thing in Part 3).

No. 1: LOSING STEAM

SOUNDS LIKE: “Ummm…::staring at blank screen:: this is hard and idon’twanttodoitanymore.”

RESPONSE: Push through. Trust me. Or tweet me. I’m happy to help keep your creative engine running. ’Cause after around day 28, the inspo will START FLOWIN’ and you’ll start to find your groove.

You’re gonna get so sick of it you will have excuses (good ones even) why you can’t do it for a day or two or three. But if you’re like me and had ‘phone it in’ on speed-dial in the past then maybe JUST MAYBE you’re more fed upNOT doing than actually doing the work.

Enthusiasm VS. Time Chart for a 100-Day Project

No. 2: DISTRACTION

SOUNDS LIKE: “Hmm Is that [Ex’s New Girlfriend’s Name] in those Maui pics? Is she a model?”

RESPONSE: Distraction-proof your time. Set a Log into the ‘guest’ account on your Mac if you have one or safe mode in PC. Put on Do Not Disturb. Block social media by using platforms like StayFocused (Google Chrome plugin) and SelfControl (developed fo’ free by Steve Lambert) which prevent you from logging into social sites at certain times.

A recent study by Digitrends puts checking social media feeds at more than once every hour (17x a day), so chances are that’s where a lot of your time is going.

Regardless where your attention is going, distractions will happen and this is where the provisions come in. I looked at old pre-project Instagram posts to use for material in case I got really lazy (I did), or hungover from the holidays (I was), or had a hot first date (several), or moved my entire life cross-state lines and couldn’t find my art supplies (twice…I just wrote on the boxes holding all my possessions.)

We can not prevent pitfalls or other peoples’ spills, we can not prevent fires and of course there ARE more important things than living a fully-activated creative life…like your kid’s health. (There are others, I just really can’t think of them right now.) What we can do is make the choice to continue to move forward and do what we can to protect us from our own proclivities towards self-destruction. (Which isn’t your fault, by the way; they are literally ingrained in our nature).

Oh, and no she’s not a model. She’s just really photogenic and clearly enlists friends to take her photo a lot. There’s no way that’s a selfie stick angle. And by the way, by the time you look through all of her vacation pics on Facebook you could have done a hand-rendered illustration of your dog.

No. 3. DELIVERING LESS THAN WHAT YOU DEEM QUALITY WORK

SOUNDS LIKE: “UGH. This sucks and it’s 11:49PM. I REALLY don’t want to use this.”

RESPONSE: Oooooh..yeah you’re right. Don’t put that out there.

Just kidding.

In the words of The Sheryl (Sandberg): “Done is better than perfect.” And hey, you waited until 11:45.

Not going to lie, I did this several times and my work was questionable at best, but that’s what you get for not doing it first thing in the AM. Many of my posts look like they were done by the original artist, just left-handed. (They were! But that’s actually my dominant hand…so…now it’s just awkward.) Some of the brightly colored ones held the same kind of fascination that a car accident does as you happen to pass by the wreckage on your way somewhere else. Still there were the written pieces that were coming along really nicely and they almost had the entire ensemble put together except you walked in on it as it was all dolled up and in a really compromising position pulling up its Spanx and you were all like “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to enter!” and she’s all like “No you’re fine! Stay for a cocktail.” and proceeds to get you a highball glass in high heels and a shiny Basic ‘Thinsticts’ shorty leotard. These are the “show the process” kinds of shots where you get some of the paint smudges or the tools you’re working with in the frame of the photo. So even though it’s far from perfect, that’s what makes it interesting.

#100daysofcopythat / Day 27

Some artists even go as far as to make this their medium. The first example I ever saw of this was Cy Twombly at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. Many of Twombly’s pieces are scrawlings of math problems, colorful chicken-scratched color tests, corner doodles of faces with haunting smeared expressions. I was not sure if was his original intention, but the entire process was his work. The pieces were enormous, raw, wrenching and beautiful, and the chaos within suggests clues to uncover narratives like coffee stains or punctures. I try to keep Cy’s work in mind as I’m creating knowing that there is a way to show the behind-the-scenes without it going in the direction of teen center craft night, but sometimes shit happens and you still gotta ship.

Think about it:

When is the last time that you put something out there, work related or otherwise that was devoid of error, pristine, and exactly how you imagined it to be when it was coming together? 

Oooh, I bet I know! Never. there will always be the folly of time and human error.

OH, and important to note — no one’s looking at you. Very few will care about this (sorry). But you’re not doing it for them. You’re not even doing it for the niche little group of your biggest fan’s (you’re Rohn’s 5) or the people so fascinated by the whole thing that they log into instagram and like every single post. Which leads me to my next thought.

No. 4. NOT GETTING THE LOVE/SUPPORT YOU DESERVE

SOUNDS LIKE: “REALLY? 7 Likes? I just made the fricken Mona Lisa out of spaghetti!”

RESPONSE: Yes You did and it’s pasta-tively awesome. But before you go scratching your noodle about why you’re not receiving the kind of virtual love that your project deserves, JUSTSTOP. It doesn’t matter. You’re not doing it for them. You will keep making regardless of whatever hearts you receive. Hearts are not your fuel. And for God’s Sake, turn off the notifications.

BUT, #protip: Do add the appropriate hashtags, especially the #100daysof[projectname] so that you are searchable and so that you can keep track of what day you’re on.

I started #100DaysofCopy that in the midst of my typography class, and my instructor was badass book cover designer, Jason Heuer. For at least the first half of the project, Jason ‘hearted’ every single one of my daily posts.

Sometimes it takes just one person looking to help keep you accountable. That one little double-tap once a day did wonders for my confidence and resolve to continue.

Also, when you first begin and start talking about it, people will have either one of two reactions, “Oh hey, that’s cool.” Or “Good luck with THAT. I/person-I-know tried something like that before and lasted 2 weeks.” There will be resistance from the people you talk to. Because we are resistant to change. But a funny thing happens when you actually about 1/3rd of the way into it. At this point, you have proven that you’re surious, and have no plans to leave the race. Suddenly you start to accrue a little crew of cheerleaders that like what you got goin’ on and like to be a part of this evolving thing you have. Use this momentum.

No. 5. FIND YOUR HEROES

SOUNDS LIKE: “Wow, I had no idea that there was a dedicated Tumblr and community for farm team athletic logos…who IS this kickass person that started this thing?

RESPONSE: He’s your new internet crush. Doing a project for 100 days gives you a reason to get in touch with people that are doing the kinds of things you’re into for way longer. They have experienced the hills and valleys of their craft and have mastered the resistance in some form or another. Create a list on Twitter and keep tabs on them. Engage with them. Be useful to them, and you might find your future employer, client, or couch to crash on next time you’re in their city. Former living statue, musician, and author, Amanda Palmer notoriously has stayed in the apartments of her fans and throughout her chaotic creative career, has a furiously dedicated collective of fans that will carry her financially throughout whatever endeavor she pursues next.

Making things, asking the world what is next, taking notes, and then sharing is a great way to live. Give this gift and receive humility, confidence, and find like-minds near and far. So now that you know what to expect on this journey, where will you go?

[Note: this is Part 2 of a 3-part series for Polyama Project.

Part 1 — WHY You Need 100 Days Of

Part 2 — WHAT to Expect on Your 100 Days

Part 3 — HOW to Find Your #100DayProject

If you’re a multipassionate entrepreneur, 

sign up for the Polyama Project mailing list here.]

Why You Need 100 Days Of

to undermine the bitchy whisperer [i.e. Fear] deep within you that says: “pssssh…you can’t pull this off.”

I am an expert at trying ‘a thing’ on for size twirling around in it, asking a few people their opinion, and then finding some reason why it’s not for me (too tight, too high maintenance, not short enough, or someone else I knew had something just like it.) I was desperate for a self-inflicted project that I could commit to. I was so sick of getting excited about and letting myself down. Just once, I needed to be acquitted of quitting.

Do you dearly depart from your side projects too? Is there a calling that you keep letting go to voicemail? Or, actually, for me it is more like a tugging at my pant leg that I kept kicking away.

And then there are those people that are DOING that thing you want to do really well. The ones that spark *jealousy*. The ones whose work you see that make you say ‘I wish I made that.’ Or, ‘I had that idea 6 YEARS ago!’ Or, that creepy/vulnerable moment where you hear someone’s words and something in your chest shifts and it resonates within the caverns of your soul. That happened to me within the first few pages of Elle Luna’s Crossroads Between Should and Must, given to me by my friend, Missy. Afterward, a deep google search revealed the #100DayProject she and the Great Discontent were running, which helped people the world over stay accountable and inspired in their daily pursuits towards their creative goals.

View fullsize

Inside Elle Luna's The Crossroads Between Should and Must

But the dates were in April and at this point, Fall was in full force. I back-burnered the thought. Then, publishing house art director, Catherine Casalino came and spoke to my SVA typography class. She was doing #100DaysinWonderland inspired by the fictitious tome she was reading and the iconic NYC designer, Michael Beirut.

My Chrome search bar revealed, not only that his last name is actually spelled Bierut, but that he designed the FedEx logo, was also an SVA instructor, and had his students embark on a 100 Days Challenge on 11/7/07.

It was November 5th 8 years later when I saw that post. I had two days.

WHY 100 DAYS?

It’s memorable for one. And Jay Papasan, and Real Estate mogul Gary Keller show us in The One Thing that it takes 66 days to form a habit. As creative people, our drive and resolve to make is met with an indefatigable force [the bitchy whisperer above] that create painstaking delays in delivering our craft to the world. So, think of those other 34 days as an insurance policy against failure-to-ship.

There is also proof that the first 100 days in an era can dictate overall success in an endeavour, as exemplified by the scrutiny of the newly elected presidents. This 3 and a 1/3rd month gestation period is an opportunity to build momentum. And as Michael Watkins observes in his HBR article, Why the First 100 Days Matters, leaders “entering new roles can stumble badly and still recover. But it’s a whole lot easier if they don’t stumble in the first place. And that’s why the transition period matters so much.”

It can feel daunting to embark on something that can feel as though it would claim entire nights, weekends, or precious time away from family, friends, and professional pursuits.

But what if you committed just 20 minutes a day? That’s half of an already-shortened lunch break or two showers. Imagine the calories and water you’d be saving! Seriously, though, the length of time will vary, depending on your project, and can be way shorter like Zak Klauck’s 100 posters-in-a-minute project. We will get to what kinds of projects make a good fit later, but first, the other less worthy reasons for starting a project (other than squashing your fear that is).

100 DAYS OF GETTING BETTER FASTER

Imagine that sensation of starting something new. Snowboarding, for example. You sucked at it, granted. You can barely sustain momentum long enough to sneeze and lose balance before you have no other excuse for faceplanting, which seems to cause muscle memory amnesia. i.e., you used to have abdominal fortitude before you strapped yourself into a board and headed for the bottom of a hill. Maybe you are with a few people on the slope that suck worse. That’s comforting for a minute but then

WHISSSSSSSHHHHH….the pro’s whiz past you in a flash of color and sound. And they’re having the time of their lives.

At least that is how I saw it when I tried snowboarding for the first time on an aggressively sunny day on the icy slopes at Hunter Mountain in upstate New York. Except those pro’s I mentioned were actually 7-year-olds that come every winter with their fit European parents. The pros (and my boyfriend at the time) were far, far away on another hill, but one that could at least could still see from where I was. I could have phoned it in after my lesson as I had endured enough wipeouts on near zero-degree inclines to earn an adult hot chocolate in the lodge. That is where most of the other first timers in my class had gone. But what kept me from hanging with it and long after my comrades had hung up their bindings?

It was that feeling that when I did start coasting if only for a second, it was fun. It’s fun!

You feel a slight breeze. It’s thrilling and effortless; you forget that ache in your wrist and for a moment, you are in the flow and it’s phenomenal. It’s adrenaline, and pride, and excitation, and fear all served up in this flaming high-flying cocktail and you are crushing it, gliding down the slope until BUMP, you’re down again. If only you could sustain that momentum for a moment longer, multiply it by 2 each time, you just might make it down the hill before the week is out.

It is similar with creative pursuits. You start making a thing, getting into the groove, and what you make isn’t that good at all. But the concept is there. It has good bones. And though you notice the Gap between what you’re making and what you want to make, the best way to get to where your heroes are is to start making. A lot. And the more you make on a consistent basis, the faster you fail and the quicker get to sucking less.

100 DAYS OF FINDING YOUR PEOPLE

When I left my job in September, I did not know exactly what I was looking for next. But I knew who I looked to that were doing things I loved really well. And what do you do when you discover something you love? You get to know it. You sign up for their mailing list and read and research. Watch Youtube videos and drink instant coffee in graphic PJ pants with your socks pulled up. And then you attempt to emulate it. I admired the sharp-tongued wit of copywriter Ashley Ambirge, the vulnerable hand-lettered poetry of design-thinker, Debbie Millman, and the principles laid out by best-selling author, Austin Kleon, in Steal Like An Artist. That is when my project, #100DaysofCopy was born. And along the way, I discovered so many amazing artists and writers that blew my mind with their creative contributions to the world and to my project. And suddenly, we were connected through a shared appreciation for consistent expression, or just a really well-placed pun.

100 DAYS OF IDEA MACHINERY

You will notice something strange start to take shape when you start making everyday. It starts sporadically at first. You will start to feel the first drops and then inspiration comes out gushing like broken water pipe. You can’t get get the ideas down fast enough. And then the next day the mainline will be arid and you need to start scratching the surfaces of your swipe file to get groundwater. Later, we will get into ways to safeguard your trajectory when this (and other pesky things called Life) intervene, but I promise, the more you keep working, the process flow will regulate itself.

If this revvs your engine to start your own 100 Day journey, stay tuned for the next installment — What to Expect, where I’ll lay out provisions to pack as you prepare for the days ahead in your creative adventure.

[Note: this is 1 of a 3-part series for Polyama Project.

Part 1 — WHY You Need 100 Days Of

Part 2 — WHAT to Expect on Your 100 Days

Part 3 — HOW to Find Your #100DayProject

If you’re a multipassionate entrepreneur, sign up for the Polyama Project mailing list here.]

New York Makes You

I used to sigh and shrug at sirens.
Now I want to run. I don’t think they got louder but my capacity to endure their passing has diminished. Their returns on reruns and rap songs irk me and reminds me that it is time. If I ever loved it, I needed to leave. Oh, but how living here these past six years has made me--not only who I am, but also like every other NYC inhabitant. We are what the mixing bowl dumped into: a hearty alphabet soup. The whole flavor more sumptuous than the sum of its ingredients. We are all seasoned by NYC--we can't NOT be. Allow me to recount the ways...

NEW YORK MAKES YOU TOUGH. But to be honest, I’ve kind of had enough. I was born sensitive but since I’ve lived here, I have hardened to adapt. My feet have calloused to the concrete streets, but underneath my leather boots my socks have slipped below my heels. I just want to move south and pull them up. I need to heal, a new pair of socks to rock and perhaps some cowboy boots to boot.

NEW YORK MAKES YOU HURRY UP AND WAIT. Those heels I mentioned don’t ever get a break—they’re getting stepped on sidewalks just to hurry underground to wait for the next train delay.

NEW YORK MAKES YOU CHEAP about things that you should invest in like shoes and mattresses ‘cause if you’re not resting in one the best bet is you’ll be in the other. But when your brother visits, all bets are off, you offer to pick up the check on a mixology bar tab that may be equivalent to a car down payment.

NEW YORK MAKES YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH THINGS YOU CAN'T AFFORD. Forever driving you towards something or something like it, falling short-sighted, accepting the knock-off, placating your urge for something better that you deserve. All those times you accept the shit behavior from the one who could have all of you should he just simply want to, drafting texts to him and over-drafting your account on account of not knowing just how much you’re really worth.

NEW YORK MAKES YOU LONELY and keeps you single file up the 86 St. or Union Stop at seven o’clock. Surrounded by like minds and neighbors that you’ll never meet. Unless of course you both happen to cross paths on the Path train and have the app, happn and ‘heart' one another. Seriously! In New York that’s how great love stories start! And start! And..[heart] start again! And sort of end and start up and move-in and then REALLY end and move out and download the app again. With all of these romance and heart-pumping kickstarters why aren’t more movers and shakers putting a ring on it then? A native Brooklynite I took home some nights says its ‘cause here folks are focused on 'career'. Yet most people from my high school cohort (NOT in New York) are married and 'shocker' don’t have careers that make them want to careen off a cliff (the non-government ones that is). They did not just up-and-Jerry-Maguire or get purposely fired cause they desired children, got a lock on a husband and pacifier for the kid and a life they could have had. No. They’re working mom’s and dad’s with less options or access to a ritzier and riskier life. But as Atmosphere quips about Minneapolis, “I don’t need to be distracted by the devil everyday.”

NEW YORK MAKES YOU MOVE. Like sharks we don’t stop. Stopping is stagnation where bacteria sticks, we get lack of motion sickness. God forbid we stop and feel sad. we must. move. on. Come on, the walk sign’s on and even tourists are starting to get annoyed by your loitering. Yet, all this pacing makes our mind race, so forcing it to stop and gas up and get Mindful by emptying it is the new thing. Meditating on not thinking is designed to help you make decisions faster and stay cool under pressure when tensions and a bottleneck are building outside the Empire State.

NEW YORK MAKES YOU PROUD and inevitably interested in what everyone else is doing. I am intoxicated by TedTalks and Creative Morning mimosas....I want to be under-the-influence of glorious influencers, led drunkenly upstairs by thought-leaders waking up again and realizing that at some point you gotta stop networking and net work worth talking about. Only when you put your head down eyes on your own paper and type and type and delete... type repeat. 'Amateur' the word means love--the amateurs are the dreamers most proud and devastated. They are quick to stop and start and dream fame and the pros just know to keep making it regardless of what accolades are on your chest. The best ones make when no one’s looking and overcome the FOMO. They are 'MO'. But also more likely to be TedTalking to you from YouTube.

NEW YORK MAKES YOU HAVE TO GO. You know when you’re just getting started at a really fun party, your gal pal telling a hilarious story you wish will never end... or making the treacherous ascent to an illegal rooftop following the accent of a handsome new friend (is he Australian or a Kiwi?)
And suddenly you have to pee.
But you hold out. Cause the story from the party is really good and gory. And you just want to keep listening to cute Rooftop’s vowel sounds trying to discern if he was born in Melbourne. Your bladder subsides along with the evening’s events and by the time the subway spits you out several blocks from your place, you pick up the pace--you need to piss. It’s escalated to the point of emergency and you stand at the base of the stairwell looking up, legs crossed—a painful tourniquet preventing you from urinating in your sevens and suede boots.
Dammit.
This is how I feel about New York. New York is the exotic hot rooftop prospect, your charismatic best friend that, were she with another party, you might shoot a death-glare for all her clamor, but because she’s in your tribe, no diatribe can touch her. I accumulate contacts-turned-coffee chats, dates with people dating other people, opportunities to freelance, and volunteer, and sit-on-the-board-and-panel. My calendar, er, bladder is full. And all I want to do now is let it all go.
I want to be in a new place to figure it out again--to be an outsider needing to charm, disarm, and politely push my way in. 
I have not left New York enough—I know this.
If I had politely excused myself from the Best Party ever and relieved myself of my obligations by going on a couple sabbaticals to South America or Asia. Or done my own version of Eat Pray Love. Instead of just leaving to eat too much at Thanksgiving, praying that the zippers don’t break on my jeans or suitcase as I close up shop after the holidays and schlep it to the DC-bound bus stop, and falling in and out of love with the city whose foot fell asleep swiping left and right all night.
Maybe we’ll make a lasting commitment to each other again someday to the tune of a two year lease in Ridgewood or Windsor Hills—by then I’ll be priced out of my beloved Crown Heights. But if not, I am sure that we will stay in touch--New York is in my fingertips and it makes you a maker too.

Break Up + Stay Whole

You and no one you love deserves half-hearted. Part ways and start wholly healing when reeling from a breakup.

Two days ago a friend asked what I was ridiculously good at.  I rattled off a few party tricks—I get kicks from 'pun'-demand wordplay to make others laugh. I can hold my own when I show up anywhere alone, and the evening seldom ends without a few new, semi-formed friendships. I realized where I tip the scale is relationships. Or rather, when they fail. Indeed, I am better than the norm at forming them—whether they come from co-working out of cafes, working out, or at Broadway plays. But more so, I am tremendous at ending the romantic ones gracefully.

I have dated as much as the next New York Girl next door and I could go on about my bestie-exes like the one I introduced to his wonderful now-wife. Or the time my boyfriend ended us right after the death of a very close friend.  But what is truly indicative--I have virtually no emotional scars from the men I used to call (or text) “boyfriend.”

There are only two times that this is vehemently inconvenient:

1. In cardio bootcamp class going blow for blow, I can not conjure up the face of an ex-beau I’d like to elbow

2. When I auto-play devil’s advocate when what a recently-split friend really needs is a fellow broken angel, ice cream, and empathy. 

Cutting the strings from former flings, lovers and undercover jerks, though, has its perks. There are very few things in this life that can cost the amount of emotional strife like a love lost but not gone. The sooner you realize and release the tie that no longer bonds, the quicker your hands are free to create a stronger knot. One that lasts longer too… (was that a knotty joke? Who knew?)

Hopefully, this lyrical listicle below will show you four ways in which to heal your heart and safely part ways from a relationship that needs to set sail.

1. Is it Toxic? Talk It Out

Ask him in your mind, “What value do you add to me?” Write out all the ways he packs or lacks meaning in your future world. Maybe there is enough reason there to have him hold space in some way in a non-romantic-someday. Or maybe you will run into him with mutual friends or at an event. That is when it is worth it to have a talk with intention.

A warning: this conversation will never cause elation. When I tried to get an ex-BF back, I got nostalgic but he was stalling. And if he was not gung-ho about giving it another go, there was a reason. Instead of easing into it, I  said to hell with it:

“Tell me you’re not in love with me."

I needed to hear my biggest fear affirmed. And when he locked eyes with me confirming he no longer felt the same way, I nodded, turned, and trod into a dramatic sheet of rain. Yes, even the weather, mocked my pain. There was no going back after that. Call it pride, but I raged inside: "My heart will never be charity…I. will NEVER. beg someone to love me.” 

Sorry, Julia, but that is not the way it works. I knew no matter how much it hurts, I would be asking for something he could not supply--like asking a vagrant if he could lend me a five. 

2. Space Yourself

One of my favorite quotes is this by Steven Johnson, a physicist: "Your thoughts fill your spaces and your spaces return the favor". Do yourself one—erase your home, work, and digital spaces of your old love. The latter is key; if he is out of websites he is out of mind. Just for now. Try ninety days. Unfollow, unfriend, block, untumbl. It is not mean, it is a means to an end to your mental and emotional suffering. If you can not bear to throw away his old t-shirt, place in a box and inconveniently push it out of view. Or do what I did if you are able, cut it up and use it to polish your table. 

3. Be an Army of Some

Though I might croon the tune in karaoke, I disagree with Bon Jovi--Love isn't a battlefield.  Breakups are. If your state-of-being OK lines are compromised, regain grounded by bringing in the troops. Your best friend, mother, and therapist can all be your enlisted help in getting you through the hell. I had my friends give me a 5 minute limit to ex-talk-it-out. Then they had to change the subject. Or better yet, scenery. Go find greenery--pick apples together. Seek out your danciest friend and go watch some DJ’s spin. Aquacycle. Volunteer to go walk dogs. When the ex-texts come rolling in, don’t react and get off track. Get a distraction and a friend.

4. Take ‘You' Time

Did I mention breakups were a war? More like a war-on-wheels with hills--ups and downs andviews along the way that you strain to see and not be distracted by the fact that you could get struck at any time and spin out of control. Slow your roll and be present. Give yourself ‘gifts’ like making your bed, or Mean Girl memes, or take in a show you have always wanted to see. Show yourself how you should be loved. And eat well. Be kind to your body and your mind will follow. But beware, your ex may too...I honestly googled, “How to make someone want you back” post-breakup. I broke down the 30K results and they do not come as a surprise: exercise and move on.

The irony is if the opportunity some day presents itself for you to re-convene, you have taken the space to respond from a more clear-headed place. And if you still have a lot to say, get it out of the way in the form of a letter. Don’t hit send--keep it for yourself, tucked away on a shelf. Be selfish.

If you do the above, it will be no time at all until you happen to run into them at a holiday party. Maybe he is there with someone. Maybe he’s alone. My guess is that he’ll rattle on about some recent career successes. Perhaps you will swap platonic Facebook-worthy new ways you have been filling your days. But do not be surprised if you don't get a rise, and the most shocking thing about your interaction is your lack of reaction. And maybe after a gin or a wine, a genuine goodwill fills you for his latest good fortunes.

Remember that every lover that comes and goes shapes and hones your experience in their path. As you redefine what it means to be fine, you are sharpening your worldview and paving the way for new relationships to shape and take form.

The -M- Path - My Manifesto V3.1A

Here it is in text:

Fall In Love With Yourself. | Buy ranunculus just because. | SAY ‘NO’ MORE; ‘PLEASE’ AND ‘THANK YOU.’ | Do Not Pass on Your Passions>>GO and Collect 10,000 hours. | Bedpost them over your head—see and dream it everyday. | Study those who are great and the rules they make to be the stars they are. Now go be be Exceptional to the Rule. | Steep yourself in greatness tea it will flavor you.| Befriend your mentors—make ‘friendtors'. | If they touch your life, stay in touch. | Your time, money, & attention is intention. Give Wisely. Be Present. Savor what you ingest. Slow down to digest. | God and puns are everywhere. Let God be the ‘risen’ you look up (and down). | Stay curious; explore & implore, but stake North on your compass—it is your intuition on this mission. | Think Big Picture and Start Small Scenes. | The recipe for everlasting anything is Nourish, Move, Laugh, Repeat. | Consistency is the key to lifelong creativity. | Attract opposites. Find your position. Now Balance and share how you got there. | Collect relics of beautiful, interesting things, but be ruthless in your editing. |  You will take trips. | Lead with Empathy. The ‘M Path’ is not easy but it is real—you blazed this trail. | You will trip. | You will fall, but in love too. You will rise again in Warrior 2, smiling. | Alison>> listen, this is your voice. You will never NOT have a choice. | Should happens. Choose MUST. | Trust You for it is YOUR life.

. . . 

A manifesto, by definition, is a public declaration of principles.

I have been inspired by so many in creating this and perhaps it will forever be a work-in-progress.

Humbled to have learned from and continue to be inspired by Monica McCarthy of Cheshire Parlour and so many others from my Pinterest page, appropriately titled, MANIFESTO FEST.

Do you long to create your own? Good news! Monica, formerly at Holstee whose manifesto went viral (it's been viewed over 100 million times) offers an online class!

Sign Up for Write Your Manifesto here.

Perhaps this will forever be a work-in-progress. I am sure you will be seeing a new version of this before long. Until then, I welcome your feedback and comments. Which line resonates with you most?

Tweet me @alisonperrie.

To Live + Diet

"We’re all going to die. And we all eat food. Therefore, food must be the culprit."

-Jim Windolf, Why Everything is Bad for You.

(Best read out loud in your mind.)

Is what's sustaining us really killing us? To answer, I must ask, “what's us?” Physically, we are sixty percent water. The stuff that makes up the other forty? Triglycerides, calcium, proteins...the synapses and firing behind them. It is the fire that drives us, ignites us. When we wake and when we say goodnight . And when we break down, it is our bodies way to say "What’s up? Just slow down, enjoy the view, won't you?" We eat crap. We catch colds. We drink too much wine. We get caught in the net of ‘not good enough. We whine, "If I only had her figure…" we figure we could be the ‘me’ in our ideal obituary. We bite off more than we can chew, then spew excuses.

Food isn't the culprit, it's our body's limitation; the libations, medications, and rations we ingest affect where and how strong these barriers are. If deconstruction is true (go with me here), then what is filling our bellies and minds is making us stronger. However, the longer and harder our body works to process what we put in, this process wears and tears; it catches up with us in the end.

Aspirin & asparagus both break down to dust, and furthermore into stuff our bodies and brains digest. If a pill or drink alters the way we think, why can't miso soup or tiramisu? Feed your brain food like nuts--I'm with Jack--the only people for me are the mad ones anyway. We are what we eat.

I knew a woman once whose spirit was so alive that she radiated energy to all she touched. Emily was the sun. But they found in this twenty-four year-old orb a tumor in her brain. It remained and grew. Even cancer could not resist her. How fervent she was about finding a cure. She raised the most funds for all of New York for brain tumor research. She even empathized with all those of us who suffered ailments not meant for life or death, but strife over where roommates put the knives, or our dating lives. The day after my breakup, I brought her hospital-bedside bagel brunch and 'faux-mosas' (alcohol did not pair well with her multi-vitamins and pain-med cocktail). She ate life for the taste of it and spit words of positivity. 'Sweet Emily', we called her. I did not find out her favorite dessert until the end. Cheesecake--every flavor and kind that one might ever dream to find, lay abundant across the banquet tables for the reception following her funeral. The hall was filled by all those who were blessed to have basked in Emily's glow. Yet, it felt vulgar to indulge in the sweet dish while we tearfully divulged memories of Emily. The bite sat heavy in my abdomen, a contrast to the emptiness I felt in my heart without her there. On the car ride home, our friend shared that he tried one time to convince her to eat all alkaline. It is no easy feat--no sugar, no dairy or wheat--it had been proven to reduce cancer growth rate as it raises your pH. Emily would not have it. If she was going to die, it would not be on a diet. If we are, indeed, what we eat, Sweet Emily was Mexican, the marrow of life, and powdered-sugared starlight.

What's left of the baloney and white bread once it's broken down? It's simple, sugar. We are all made of stars--just ask Moby, who may be all-knowing. I maintain that the mainstay of our diets does not make us us die. If stars are what we are, I'd advise to swallow cosmic fire; passion to nourish that inner child--wild, wide-eyed and never satisfied. And wash it down with juice that's green to keep your engine running clean.

Every morsel of our mortality we should savor. Save yourself--don’t stuff your face, eat veggies--read Pollan for more on this--and bring a healthy dish to the potluck. Share. Best of luck from there.

STAY TUNED.

OR play some tunes. I recommend my MUSE[IC] playlist on Spotify for creative juicing.